


With a Little Luck You Could Stay

by blueeyedrichie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Blood, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Disordered Eating, During the 27 Years (IT), Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie works as a stripper for part of this fic, Explicit Sexual Content, Famous Richie Tozier, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Scars, Self-Harm, Size Difference, Smoking, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Top Richie Tozier, Vomiting, in that they gain and lose memories throughout, its pretty lowkey tho, please see author's notes for further explanation on some of these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26228236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueeyedrichie/pseuds/blueeyedrichie
Summary: So they didn’t talk about it. Because Eddie still hadn’t figured out how to sayI feel so calm around you. So safe. I want to be near you all the time. I think I dream about you, but I’ve been having these dreams since before I even met you so I don’t know how that’s possible.~It seems as if Richie just cannot stop remembering, like he thinks the memories will eventually drive him mad, and now he bites down on his lip and puts his hands together, palm to palm, tight; as if to keep himself from flying apart.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 24
Kudos: 91
Collections: Labor Day Book Quote Challenge (2020)





	With a Little Luck You Could Stay

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all! i worked really hard on this fic and it means a lot to me so i hope you all like it :')  
> this fic is part of the labor day book quote challenge organized by @bimmyshrug and @richieblows; thanks for setting up this challenge guys! it's been so much fun writing and talking with everyone in the server! <3  
> also thank you to @whorefrombabylon for being my beta and also for putting up with me throughout this whole process :')  
> the book quote belongs to mr stephen king, and the lyrics and title are from the song "table for one" by awolnation
> 
> ////////// TRIGGER WARNINGS ////////////  
> \- while eddie does hurt himself in the self harm scene, it is not done with harmful or suicidal intent  
> \- the disordered eating is due in larger part to being unable to afford food than anything else. it's also not described in graphic detail, though he and richie are both aware of the changes to his body and it is mentioned that he's lost weight. also, the vomiting is not in relation to an eating disorder.  
> \- there is a brief description of a client at the club where eddie works that gets momentarily violent with him, as well as a mention later that eddie probably wouldn't be able to defend himself against someone like that; though nothing comes of either instance  
> \- there are a few mentions/scenes where richie drinks so much that he passes out  
> \- if you aren't sure how you feel about some of these scenes, feel free to message me and i can give more detail about them to clarify (that will involve spoilers)
> 
> ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
> 
> look at the pavement  
> our initials barely fit  
> i used an old nail  
> while you kept the night lit
> 
> see, i don't like this  
> i think i might just  
> kick the dramatics  
> so watch out
> 
> 'cause i don't want you to leave  
> i wanna tell you good dreams  
> and with a little luck you could stay  
> 'cause i don't want you to leave

The first time he sees him, it’s fine.

He knows better than to pay too much attention to anyone in the crowd. They’re all here for one of a few reasons: to forget about their shitty jobs or their nagging significant others or the loneliness that's threatening to swallow them whole.

The money is the only reason he’s here. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

It’s high on the list, but over the months that he’s worked here, he started to realize something about himself.

He’s lonely, too. And maybe he doesn’t exactly hate the attention he gets. Even if most of it is from old, sleazy businessmen with grease stains on the bellies of their shirts that they stop trying to hide under their suit jackets once they’re hidden away in the shadowy corners of the bar.

And he feels free on the stage. Feels so light and airy as he spins around in his pretty outfits; little smiles pulling at his lips when he closes his eyes and lets the music take him.

Most of the other dancers roll their eyes at him, turn their noses up when he passes them on his way back to his dressing room. It bothered him, at first. Until he was told by one of the nice ones that _they’re just jealous, Eddie. You make more money than all of them and you don’t even get naked up there or do any private shows. Don’t let them get to you._

So he doesn’t. He flashes them more of his little smiles and pretends that it doesn’t bother him that he doesn’t have any friends other than the lingering eyes in the audience and the crumpled bills he carefully flattens out once he’s safely back in his dressing room.

He thinks it’s fine, the first time he sees him sitting at the edge of the stage. A glass of golden liquid in one hand, the tiny orange ember of his cigarette threatening to burn the fingers of his other.

It’s fine, as long as he doesn’t give him a second glance. Doesn’t acknowledge the strange feeling in his belly at the sight of black curls and full lips; the glare on the lenses of his square frames that conceal what Eddie imagines are icy blue rings circling the dark abyss of his pupils. 

He’s never been more thankful for the end of a song. The scar on his palm itches while he collects the cash, and his eyes remain downcast when a large hand places several bills at the edge of the stage. A _thank you_ wants to escape his lips, so he bites down hard on the bottom one and scoops up the unwrinkled, pristine currency and tries not to appear ungrateful to his audience as he scurries offstage. 

The dreams are worse that night. Addled visions of blue eyes; the distant sounds of laughter; the sting of a scraped knee; the hot press of bicycle metal against sun kissed skin.

If only it were the first time.

The second time he sees him, he’s desperate.

Desperation is why he’s even here in the first place. Because rent and student loans and electricity and cell phone bills aren’t waiting for him to find a cozy office job and eventually make enough money by the hour to somehow catch up on all the late notices that are piling up under the fresh bills every month.

So he ignores the beguiling sense of excitement stirring low in his belly when he catches sight of those sooty curls once again, and instead focuses on what he’s here to do; always sure to keep his left palm turned in toward himself or hidden under whatever sheer, flowy garment he’s adorned in. 

It’s for the illusion; can’t have anyone seeing his marred skin and deciding he’s no longer worth their drunken largess.

He worries everyone notices just how distracted he is, but with the way the money lands all over the stage like confetti, he supposes he must be doing alright.

He feels the weight of eyes on him the entire time, that’s nothing new. What’s new, is the way he moves closer rather than pushes away, and ends up spending over half his set on the side of the stage where the man lounges languidly in the velvet cushioned seat, legs hanging open in what Eddie thinks could be a display of discomfort, clearly too tall for the small chair.

The song cuts out just as he’s allowing his eyes to drag up the man’s frame, and then his ears start ringing when he leans forward to place what appears to be an even larger sum of cash on the stage. He keeps his eyes down again, so low that the glitter on his cheeks sparkles in his eyeline. When he bends down to pick it up delicately, as if it’ll all vanish into thin air if he moves too quickly, he can smell the oaky bourbon left over from the man’s breath. And this time he doesn’t have the mind to worry what everyone is thinking when he runs behind the curtain, his chest heaving as he sucks in the sour taste of the perfume doused air around him.

At home that night, he wonders how to appropriately thank a stranger for giving him enough money to cover his month’s bills, all because he danced around half naked for five minutes.

The third time he sees him, he gives in. Just a little.

He’s dressed in a pair of metallic blue shorts, topped only with a diaphanous cape-like shawl to match. It hangs loosely in the crooks of his elbows as he moves gracefully across the stage, his eyes always finding their way back to the same man, who has exchanged his suit jacket for leather and his slacks for dark jeans; the pale skin of his face and hands contrasting beautifully where it peeks out from his sleeves and collar.

Eddie’s drawn to him like a magnet, can’t stop his feet from carrying him back to that side. So he drops to his knees instead, moving lithely across the floor under the colored lights. He wants to be close to the man, wills him to lean in; to press his feet against the ground and pull the seat forward with his long legs.

When it actually happens, he feels his body trying to startle away. Instead, he rolls onto his front and kicks his legs up, his hands tightening in the thin material around his upper half.

That oaky scent is back, and maybe it’s not just the guy’s breath. Maybe that’s just _him._ Eddie ignores how badly he wants to press his nose against his skin and find out.

“How much for a private show?”

The words are almost lost on him, so hushed and smooth when they finally hit his ears. Before he even has time to fully process the question, there’s more money lined up on the edge of the stage. Eddie bites his lip and looks up, and it turns out he was right. His eyes are blue, just like the ones in his dreams. Maybe he’s still asleep.

God, he hopes not.

Automatically, he says, “I don’t do private shows.”

Eddie digs his nails into his scar when the music tapers.

With a crooked smile, the man asks, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Forcing his gaze down, he starts gathering his money and thinks that this could be the opportunity he’s been wanting to finally thank the man who has now single-handedly paid for nearly two months of his rent.

When he’s finally back on his feet, he looks between the bar and the man, who still has that little smile curving his lips. The shrug he gives is noncommittal, but he already has his seat at the bar picked out.

He wipes the sweat from his brow when he sees the man sitting in the spot exactly next to the one Eddie had earlier chosen. The near panic attack he had moments ago in his dressing room is sparking his nerves again, but it doesn’t stop him from walking to the bar and dropping his backpack on the floor before climbing into the seat, his feet resting atop the bag beneath him. His left hand moves to tuck safely under his thigh, a heavy breath leaving his lips when the bartender comes over. He orders a vodka soda with lime and curls his fingers into the hem of the running shorts he’d changed into, and it feels like years go by while he waits for the man to say something.

“I got it.”

From the corner of his eye, Eddie sees the bartender nod and turn to the till, presumably adding Eddie’s drink onto this guy’s tab. Tentatively, he pulls the glass toward himself and takes a long sip to wet his dry throat.

“Um. Thank you.” It’s quiet, but he knows the guy heard it when he turns toward him. Eddie licks the tang of lime from his lips and his eyes flit up for just a moment, the striking blue taking his breath away. He stares instead at the man’s hand, held firmly around his glass. Condensation drips over his long fingers and onto the bar. Eddie licks his lips again.

“Hey,” his voice has that same low tone as before, and Eddie gasps when he reaches over with his right hand to capture Eddie’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. And Eddie wants to scream, to shove him off and say, _don’t fucking touch me; I hate being touched._ But he finds himself leaning into it instantly. Realization hits him and he leans out of the grasp, but this time holds eye contact. The hand under his thigh clenches into a fist. A chuckle; and then, “I’m sorry. I’ve just- uh. I’ve just really been dying to see your eyes up close.”

With a hot blush settling in his cheeks, he clears his throat and gnaws on his straw as he takes another sip, blinking his way back up to meet the man’s gaze.

“Well?”

The man lifts a brow, blinking slow, “Well, what?”

Eddie gestures vaguely at his own face, cursing himself when his blush seeps below his collar. “W-what do you think?”

He chuckles softly. “Your face?” His teasing tone quickly turns serious. “Exquisite. But your eyes…” Eddie swallows hard when the man leans closer, his glass scraping against the bar where his hand hasn’t left it. “Hauntingly familiar.”

The proximity is suffocating, so he turns away and sucks down the rest of his drink. Just as he wipes the wetness from the glass onto the thigh of his shorts, there’s a hand extending toward him. 

“I’m Richie, by the way.”

Richie.

_Richie._

The name makes his heart race and his ears ring, and he digs his nails into his sweaty palm again.

He’s tempted to feel the warmth of Richie’s large hand encompassing his own, but his stomach lurches just at the thought of skin on skin, so he politely shakes his head.

“I’m Eddie.”

Richie’s fingers curl inward and he pulls his hand back, lifting the other to take a long drink of his bourbon. His brows furrow as he swirls what little is left in his glass, looking into it as if it were a crystal ball that had all the answers he seemed to be searching for. 

Eddie thinks maybe he’ll ask what his problem is; why he can’t even shake his hand. But he doesn’t, and Eddie’s chest aches.

“Eddie,” he says it carefully, like it’s forbidden fruit on his tongue, and Eddie feels faint, “Thanks for letting me buy you a drink.”

He can’t help but scoff, the ice in his glass clinking as he stirs it around with his straw. “I should be thanking you.” Those blue eyes are on him again, and he lets himself stare into them. Every nerve in his body buzzes and his mind reels and he’s never wanted to throw himself at another human being as desperately as he wants to in that very moment. That thought frightens him, so he attempts to silence his mind by letting his mouth run. “You’ve literally helped me so much. I mean, I’ve made a lot of money here,” he gestures vaguely around before tucking his right hand under his other thigh. Richie’s gaze drops to his lap, slowly flitting it’s way up his body to land back on his eyes. Eddie swallows, “But nothing like what you’ve given me. And I don’t really understand why you’re doing that. I mean, I turned you down when you asked for a show. And now you’re buying me drinks? And thanking me for it?” His cheeks are so hot and his mouth is desert dry; and Richie gestures at the bartender to bring them another round as if he knows. “I’m just- I’m really fucking grateful. I’ve never wanted to thank anyone before you. So- so just. Thanks. Thank you, Richie.”

Richie laughs, crisp and vibrant. His hand leaves his empty glass only to be replaced with a fresh one. Eddie quickly sucks down half of his new drink, urgently trying to drown the butterflies in his belly.

“You know,” Richie begins, shifting in his seat. Tones of citrus and pine float their way into Eddie’s nose to mix with the oaky scent he’s already become so accustomed to, his mouth watering with it. “I haven’t been to a strip club since my twenty-first. Never really even had the desire to go to one. That was seven years ago,” he chuckles, his eyes still examining every inch of Eddie’s face. “And there was construction on my usual route home, so I had to take a different way. I’d never even heard of this place before but the moment I passed by, I had to turn around and come in. I had no idea why the fuck I felt like I needed to be here but-” He sighs, bringing his glass to his lips. Eddie panics when Richie shakes his head rather than finishing his thought, because suddenly he needs to fucking know exactly why Richie decided to come in here.

“But what?” 

The wistful look in Richie’s eyes when they land on Eddie’s again has his heart leaping into his throat.

“But when I saw you, I knew that was the reason.”

Tears burn the backs of his eyes so quickly it's dizzying. He breaks eye contact and stares at a droplet sliding down the side of his own glass. The silence between them is agonizing; but he can’t figure out how to tell Richie that he understands; that when he laid eyes on Richie that first night he’d come in, it felt like everything he’d been through up to that point finally had a fucking purpose.

“I-” His voice shakes, and only then does he notice that his whole body is trembling. 

Richie abruptly moves closer, so close that his warm breath hits Eddie’s cheek and makes him shiver.

“You felt it too, didn’t you?”

His scar is threatening to break under the pressure of his blunt nails and his breath comes in quick pants while Richie continues leaning in, and before he has time to register his own movements he’s stumbling from his seat and grabbing his backpack, hastily throwing it over one shoulder. He chances a look at Richie, his heart breaking at the sight of his dejected expression.

The way his body is reacting to this man he’d only just officially met is staggering; his chest heaves under the invisible weight pressing down on it. 

“I- I’m sorry. I can’t-” he tries to explain as he backs away, a tear rolling down his cheek as he bolts for the back door, running all ten blocks to his slummy apartment.

When he arrives, he locks the door with shaky fingers and drops his backpack onto the lone chair in what should be a dining area.

Every night, he showers; brushes his teeth; applies lotion to his skin. Then a cup of chamomile with a humble squeeze of honey and one lemon wedge. It’s comforting; routines. It’s the most luxury he allows himself, and sometimes he even forgets that he’s watching Netflix on his iPhone 6 rather than a big screen TV he’s unlikely to ever have. Not that he needs it, but sometimes he likes to entertain the notion.

Tonight, however; he does none of those things. They don’t even cross his mind. Tears run hot over his cheeks as he stumbles down the hall to his bedroom, barely making it there before his knees buckle and he falls face first onto the mess of blankets. Fingers curled in the sheets, he pulls himself to the far side, reaching over to yank the drawer of his nightstand open. He’s not even sure it’s still in there; not certain it’s unexpired. 

Well, he hadn’t been a few days ago. But upon seeing Richie that first night, he’d found himself visiting his doctor for the first time in years, easily being prescribed yet again with the same inhaler he remembers finding so long ago, though he hadn’t been able to recall why he’d ever needed it. 

The two puffs he delivers have his chest feeling like it may not actually burst, and the overexertion has him falling asleep moments after.

His dreams that night are intense and mesmerizing; he finds himself captivated by dazzling blue eyes set in a blurry face; hears himself scream followed by the loud crack of a bone breaking. He wakes up in a terror, face pressed into his tear soaked pillow. The scar on his palm is decorated by little half moons where he’s dug his nails in. Two more puffs and many more body wracking sobs eventually lull him back to sleep.

~

“Let’s play twenty questions.”

Eddie’s response is a loud slurping sound as he finishes his second drink, turning to look at Richie with a raised brow.

“Really?”

Three weeks have flown by since that first night he sat here with Richie. He made it exactly three days after that without acknowledging Richie’s presence. It hadn’t deterred Richie in the slightest; still sitting in his spot near the stage every single night.

But for every moment during those three days that he forced his gaze away from the other man; stayed safely on the opposite side of the stage as much as possible; it felt like dying. It felt _worse_. 

And every night Richie sat at the bar, slowly sipping his bourbon. Waiting to see if Eddie would join. When he finally allowed himself to, it was the calmest he’d felt in as long as he could remember. Just sitting there, existing next to Richie.

So they didn’t talk about it. Because Eddie still hadn’t figured out how to say _I feel so calm around you. So safe. I want to be near you all the time. I think I dream about you, but I’ve been having these dreams since before I even met you so I don’t know how that’s possible._

There are so many things he wants to say to Richie. But the way he already feels so intensely about the other man unnerves him, so he keeps burying it deeper and deeper into the pit of his belly that sizzles every time his dark eyes meet blue.

Richie chuckles, infectious; Eddie’s cheeks warm as he giggles with him. A fresh drink sits in front of him, and he wonders how much he missed while he was trapped in his thoughts.

“We don’t have to, Eds; I just thought-”

“No! We can. I mean, I want to.” Eddie smiles up at him, tucking his left hand loosely between his legs so he can dig his nails into the skin of his thigh to ground himself. He isn’t quite sure when he became _Eds,_ because the first time Richie said it, it felt like he’d been Eds his entire life. He gently chided Richie at first, but the way it made his heart flutter up into his throat every time had him easily letting it go. He moves his drink closer to catch the straw in his mouth, watching Richie as he takes a drink. The straw is tucked into the corner of his lips, teeth marking it as he says, “You start.”

Richie’s throat bobs, and Eddie closes his eyes for a second with the heavy dip of his belly at the sight. When he risks a look at Richie’s eyes, they’re trained on his mouth. He bites down harder on the plastic. Richie seems to realize what he’s doing and clears his throat, gulping down some of his drink before looking back at Eddie.

“Okay. When’s your birthday?”

Such an ordinary question, but Eddie blushes nonetheless.

“November eleventh.” Richie smiles, his white teeth peeking out between his lips. Eddie squeezes his own thigh. “When’s yours?”

“March seventh. How long have you been working here?”

Eddie’s gaze falls as he takes another sip. “Almost six months.”

The pause is long enough that Richie prompts him, “It’s your turn, Eddie.”

Realizing his drink is over half empty, he sits back in the chair and rubs his palm over his pants. They’re old; from dance in high school. But still his favorite. 

“Oh, um. W- what do you do?” Richie’s gaze is thoughtful when Eddie looks at him. “Where do you work?”

Upon asking, it hits Eddie how little he actually knows about Richie. Even though they’ve spent several nights together here now, they haven’t really asked many personal questions. Their time together mostly consists of Richie making Eddie laugh, and Eddie admiring Richie as if he hung every single star in the sky. Now that he’s aware, his whole body itches with the desperate need to learn everything he possibly can. He’d erase all of his other knowledge if it meant he could know all there is to know about Richie.

“I’m a writer. Comedy, mostly.” Richie finishes his drink and gestures with one large hand for another. Eddie’s eyes glaze over at the sight. “And I work at a radio station sometimes.”

And it’s not that Eddie doesn’t believe him, but he’s not exactly sure how those things have gotten Richie so much money.

“Are you like… famous?”

Richie laughs. “Does that count as one of your questions?”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Does that count as one of yours?”

Richie leans back in his seat, and Eddie can’t stop his eyes from dragging over the length of him. Indecipherable nightmares still plague him every night, but lately, he’s been having new dreams that star the man next to him. They’re clear and undeniable, and he wonders just how accurate they are. If the gentle weight of Richie’s hands and the soft press of his lips that he’s felt in those dreams would send him into the same euphoria in real life. 

He’s fairly certain he knows the answer.

“I wouldn’t say famous.” Richie’s low voice pulls Eddie back to the present. “Notable, maybe.”

Eddie doesn’t press the matter, though he wants to. So instead, he tries to ease his own nerves by asking Richie’s favorite color, but his response only makes him feel dizzy.

“Red. Specifically the shade your cheeks turn every time you blush.”

It’s impossible to miss the grin that splits Richie’s face, and Eddie feels his face burning up; though he can’t help but smile shyly in return.

They go on like that for a while, definitely exceeding the twenty question limit at some point. Eddie learns Richie’s favorite food (pizza) and his favorite mode of transportation (motorcycle) and his favorite band (The Cure) and other little tidbits that he tucks safely into the space in his mind that he’s officially created for Richie. He feels greedy, wanting to know more. And it’s at the end of his last drink that he lets himself get a little more personal.

“What’s your last name?”

Richie looks at him curiously, almost like he can’t believe he didn’t think to ask the same question. But then a look of mischief passes over his face, and Eddie’s whole body is alight with it.

“Last names in exchange for private shows only, sorry Eds.” The laugh is escaping him before he even finishes the sentence, and just as Richie tries to rescind the statement with a, “Shitty joke, sorry. Can you believe they pay me for that shit? My last name is-” Eddie makes a decision.

“Let’s go then.”

His heart beats against his chest so hard he feels woozy, but he’s never been more sure of anything in his life. The sudden revelation of how badly he wants to be alone with Richie hits him _hard_ , and he’s already scooting off the chair, his feet determinedly hitting the ground.

“What? Eddie, I’m just kidding. I’ll literally tell you whatever you want to know. You don’t have to do anything for me. Ever.” His voice is hushed and serious, but Eddie sees the way Richie’s eyes darken when he places his right hand on his forearm.

He curls his fingers into the sleeve of Richie’s jacket and tugs, leaning in to whisper, “Come with me.”

Eddie’s blood boils when Richie stands up, his head reaching only to Richie’s shoulders. He looks up to see the mystified daze on Richie’s face, and he swallows hard, gripping the material of his sleeve tighter as they stumble through the bar to a dimly lit hallway on the other side, not stopping until they’re inside a room covered in wall to wall velvet; cherry red. Eddie flips the little sign on the doorknob to indicate the room is occupied before closing the door, his palms pressed flat against it as he tries to catch his breath. Steeling himself, he turns around to find Richie standing in the middle of the room, a tantalizing mix of bewilderment and fervor decorating his features. It takes every morsel of self control he has to not throw himself at the other man in that moment.

They stare at each other, chests heaving, their breaths only adding to the weight of the tension in the room. Richie’s hands fidget at his sides, and he eventually lifts one to pull through his curls, and Eddie’s knees feel weak.

“Eddie…” 

Uncertainty tints Richie’s voice, and it’s enough to have Eddie pushing away from the door, hands linked behind his back as he nervously approaches him, stopping with a couple feet still between them.

“Um. Sit down.” He urges, though the timidity in his own voice is probably less than convincing. Richie does it anyway, huffing a shaky breath once he’s plopped down on the couch that is snugly tucked along the wall opposite the door. Eddie takes a few more steps toward Richie, his hand unsteady when he brings it around to toy with the hem of his own shirt. “Do you want music? Or should I dim the lights more? I think there’s a switch somewhere-”

“Eddie.” His voice is firm this time, and Eddie slowly allows his gaze to travel up, his breath hitching at the heated look in Richie’s eyes. “C’mere.”

So Eddie does, slowly moving closer until the toes of his shoes bump into Richie’s. Something passes between them; Eddie feels it like the first gentle breeze after a storm, when the sun is just beginning to peer out from behind the clouds and warm the raindrops on his skin. Then his wrist burns with the searing hot grip of Richie’s fingers, and then he’s falling. And he’d fall a million more times if it meant he’d end up like this: caught in Richie’s arms.

It hits him all at once how he’s clumsily straddling Richie’s lap with two large hands encircling his waist; how the intoxicating scents he’s only been able to enjoy in small doses are now flooding his senses; how Richie’s eyes are even more stunning this close, and it’s in that moment that he knows those are the same eyes in his dreams. The dreams he’s had before he met Richie. And he knows that doesn’t make sense and it’s not possible, so he keeps it to himself and moves his hands to Richie’s shoulders to try and ground himself.

Richie pulls him forward so that Eddie can rest his bottom on Richie’s thighs, and he’s breathless. But he doesn’t want his inhaler this time. He just wants Richie to kiss the air back into his lungs.

“God…” Richie murmurs, snapping Eddie back to reality to find Richie looking down between them, his eyes raking over Eddie, “You’re so tiny.” As if to prove his point, he pulls him even further forward until Eddie’s knees are digging into the back of the couch, and he squeezes around Eddie’s waist gently, his thumbs nearly meeting where they reach across his belly.

Eddie swallows hard as he stares at Richie’s hands, and he keeps his eyes there while he speaks, because that feels easier than looking at Richie’s face. “Maybe you’re just big.” If he wasn’t completely awestruck watching Richie’s thumbs gently moving against his belly, he’d feel much more embarrassed about that statement. Then one of those hands is moving up, and his face is being lifted by steady fingers on his chin. 

“Do you like that?” It’s a genuine question, like Richie is concerned that there’s anything about himself that Eddie wouldn’t like. Despite that, Eddie hears a tiny sound bubble up in the back of his throat, and he flushes so hot it makes him lightheaded. He can’t do much else but nod, and he finds himself staring at Richie’s mouth. His lips are so full and red and just the slightest bit dry that it makes him dart his tongue out to lick over his own lips as he imagines what they feel like. 

“D- do you?” It’s delayed and he’s sure Richie won’t even know what he’s asking, but when Richie answers, his heart soars.

“I like everything about you.”

His skin feels too hot and too cold and fucking numb all at once, and he suddenly remembers what brought them here in the first place.

“Your name,” he breathes, and then Richie’s pressing their foreheads together and the only thing Eddie can see is the dusky night sky of Richie’s shimmering eyes.

“It’s Richie Tozier.”

The sound of it has his entire body reacting, pushing closer until their chests are flush and his hands weave into his hair and the only air they’re breathing is what they give to each other between the hairline distance still separating their lips.

Richie’s arms wind around his middle to hold him tightly as he leans further into the back of the couch, his eyes lidded behind his lenses. “And yours?”

Eddie closes his eyes, his hands fisting in Richie’s curls. The sound it draws from his chest makes Eddie’s thighs tighten against Richie’s sides.

“Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” Richie echoes, one hand moving from Eddie’s back to cradle the back of his head, his thumb stroking the soft patch of skin behind Eddie’s ear. “I know we’re way past twenty questions at this point but,” Eddie opens his eyes enough to see the corners of Richie’s eyes crinkling with a smile. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

It starts slow, and Eddie’s grateful for that. Until the very moment Richie’s lips pressed against his, he truly had no idea if he’d even be able to go through with it. And it’s then that it occurs to him just _how much_ Richie is touching him. The hand on the back of his neck is still holding firm while the other grips his hip. Their bodies are pressed as tightly together as possible. And their lips are pushing and pulling and melding together; and it’s not like Eddie’s never been kissed, but he doesn’t ever remember _wanting_ it like this. 

In the back of his mind, a little voice is screaming to push Richie away, to get his hands and his lips and his _everything_ off of him and wash away the germs and resume never being touched. Because Eddie fucking hates being touched. He couldn’t even let himself think about it on stage or he’d get nauseous imagining all the grubby hands in the crowd reaching for him and brushing against him.

He thinks about the one and only time he’d gone to a party that one of the other dancers had invited him to, and how the drunken birthday girl hugged him without so much as a hello. It made his skin crawl as she hung on him, slurring about how he needed to do a shot with her.

As he thinks about it, his hands dive even deeper into Richie’s hair.

He thinks about the date he went on with Adam; who he’d met at the grocery store and who had barely waited five minutes to ask Eddie to grab a coffee with him. Touchy from the start, Eddie couldn’t ever fully relax with him, despite going on four dates. It was the kiss that ruined it. Because Adam didn’t ask. And Eddie shoved him away and ran inside his apartment, barely making it to the bathroom before the contents of his stomach were forcing their way back up.

As he thinks about it, Richie’s tongue presses cautiously against the seam of his lips, and Eddie opens up to let him in.

He thinks about the night he turned down a private show, and the customer roughly grabbed his arm, shouting in his face about _who the fuck do you think you are? I’m paying you to do what I fucking ask, I’ll have you fired, you stupid brat._ The bouncer removed and banned him from the bar, and Eddie’s boss was far more considerate than he was required to be. Eddie spent the next week covering up the bruise and scrubbing his skin raw in the shower, feeling as if he’d never get that man’s touch off of him.

As he thinks about it, he rocks his hips down into Richie’s and lets out a tiny moan when their clothed cocks rub together.

And he finally understands that maybe being touched was never the problem.

Maybe it’s because it was never Richie.

The kiss is suddenly no longer slow, Eddie’s tongue shoving it’s way into Richie’s mouth to taste him. It’s smoky vanilla with just a twinge of mint somehow still clinging to his taste buds, and Eddie pushes closer, his fingers tugging roughly on Richie’s hair with his movements. Richie groans into his mouth, and the sound rattles its way through Eddie’s entire body. Both of Richie’s hands move to hold onto his hips, helping him move against his lap. 

Heat is threatening to light Eddie’s insides aflame as he pushes impossibly closer, leaning up enough to have Richie’s head tilting into the back of the couch as their tongues press together. Loud, panting breaths escape between their mouths, and Eddie can’t help but plead airily against his lips, “Touch me, Richie.”

Richie chuckles, the sound making Eddie’s toes curl. “I am, baby.” He drops a kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth before moving to his ear, and Eddie’s heart leaps into his throat when Richie asks, all humor gone from his voice, “Where do you want me to touch you?”

“Everywhere.”

His hands slip under the hem of Eddie’s shirt then, moving up to wrap around his ribs, his thumbs dangerously close to Eddie’s hardening nipples. 

“You’re a dream, Eddie; god, you’re so gorgeous.”

Eddie pulls back just enough to look into Richie’s eyes, and he feels words trying to leave his lips, words that are far too intense for someone he barely knows. Words that he hasn’t said to anyone since his mother, and even then he didn’t mean them. So he hurriedly admits something else that he thinks may be an even bigger mistake.

“I dream about you all the time, Richie.”

What passes over Richie’s face Eddie can only think to describe as empathy, and he hears Richie’s voice in his head saying _I dream about you too, Eddie. I have for years._ He quickly blinks away the haze to see Richie’s lips parting, and suddenly he’s not sure if those words were in his head or not. Thinking they may be true is terrifying, so before Richie has a chance to say anything else, Eddie cups his cheeks with both hands and places a kiss to his lips before slowly making his way down his jawline. Richie’s hands tighten around his body, and Eddie wishes they were somewhere else. Somewhere that didn’t have crowds of people just down the hall. 

Eddie kisses his way to Richie’s neck, reveling in the throaty sigh Richie lets out at the sensation. A smile pulls at his lips when he feels Richie turn his head to press a kiss into the palm Eddie is using to cup his cheek, and it takes him a moment too long to realize that Richie has stopped moving. Eddie’s insides ice over when it occurs to him what’s happened, and he sits back on Richie’s thighs only to find the other man staring at the pale slash on his palm. 

All color leaves Richie’s face, his freckles dark against his now ghostly pale skin. Eddie feels panic seeping into his bones; feels Richie’s hands slip out from under his shirt, and he wants to cry. It was stupid of him to think Richie would be different, wouldn’t wonder what other hideous scars linger on Eddie’s small body. The illusion is shattered, and suddenly Eddie’s skin is crawling, because he never should have let himself get this carried away in the first place. 

Eddie frantically attempts to pull his hand away, but Richie’s catching his wrist before he can. He stares wide-eyed at the scar on Eddie’s palm, and it pulses under his calculating gaze. The silence is deafening, until Eddie’s sniffles break it and tears start dampening his cheeks and he can’t look at Richie anymore.

“Let me go, Richie.” He uses his free hand to press against Richie’s chest and try to climb out of his lap. Richie stops him with a tightened grip on his wrist and another on his waist, pulling him back against him. Eddie gasps, his stomach twisting when Richie leans in to press another kiss to the gash. It feels like something is trying to crack open inside of him; like he’s just on the verge of an epiphany, and it’s fucking terrifying and he needs to get out of here. “Richie,” he cries, weakly pushing away from him again. Because he doesn’t really want to get away from him. He wants to break Richie’s ribs open and crawl inside, to sew the tendons in his body together and blanket himself with them.

“Eddie,” the way his voice cracks has Eddie’s eyes shooting up to his face to find tears slowly streaming down his cheeks. His free hand instantly lifts to gently thumb over the glistening line of Richie’s freckles.

It feels like a wall is crumbling down, like light is shining through into the dark recesses of his mind for the first time in so long. And it hurts, and he’s nauseous, and he just wants Richie to take him home and press him into the mattress with his body and make him feel okay again. But he shouldn’t want that so badly, because Richie is a fucking stranger. A stranger whose lap he’s sitting in; who is seeing a part of him that he’s practiced hiding for so many years; who Eddie already has feelings for that he’s never experienced for someone else. He can feel his heart trying to claw its way out of his chest so it can nestle closer to Richie’s warmth.

Richie inhales harshly, blinking more tears over his lids before finally releasing Eddie’s wrist to bring both of his hands up to wipe away his own tears. 

“I’m sorry, I tried to hide it,” Eddie sobs, and he has no idea why he’s apologizing, but it’s all he can think to do. He moves to get up again, but Richie stops him with a gentle hand on his waist. 

Then the wall that was crumbling shatters as Richie lifts his left hand shakily in front of Eddie’s face. 

Eddie’s entire body locks up at the sight of an identical scar on Richie’s palm, and his head is suddenly spinning with images from his dreams, cracked and dusty like a broken film reel. 

He sees himself, hears the beep of his watch indicating its time to take his pills. 

_It’s time, Dr. K! Take your pills so you may live another day!_

The British accent is terrible, but his younger self is giggling as Richie hands him a glass of water. 

_Richie._

There’s more, so much more but it speeds through his mind too quickly to keep up. But he knows without a doubt that the boy is Richie. 

It takes Richie shaking him by the shoulders to return to the present, and his chest is screaming at him as he wheezes in breaths desperately. 

“Eddie?” Richie’s eyes are red with tears, and the next words from him are the confirmation that sends him into a panic attack. “Where’s your inhaler, Eds?”

Between his gasps he manages, “H- how do you know about my inhaler?” He clutches handfuls of Richie’s t-shirt as he tries to breathe, and then Richie’s hands are cupping his face, shushing him softly and pulling him into his chest. He catches sight of the terror in Richie’s eyes, and Eddie wonders if maybe Richie doesn’t know how to answer that question. 

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Eddie baby. Just breathe with me, okay?”

Eddie presses his face hard against Richie’s chest, his ear right over his heart so he can hear the steady thump of it. Richie caresses his cheek with one hand and the small of his back with the other, and Eddie closes his eyes as Richie hums softly into his hair. He vaguely recognizes the song, but it’s out of focus as he tries to match his breathing to Richie’s. 

It definitely wasn’t one of his shining moments, but it was all he could think to do at the time.

Once he’d caught his breath, he’d hurriedly pushed away from Richie, not allowing himself to look back as he darted out of the room and down the hall, running all the way home again for the second time since encountering the other man. 

And now it’s been a week since the following morning, when Eddie called his manager to tell him he needed the week off. 

One week has somehow become two, and Eddie’s funds are already nearly wiped out. Mistakenly taking comfort in the money Richie had been giving him; he had started to pay off his late fees. Which felt amazing at the time, but the bills hadn’t stopped coming; his kitchen is barren; his inhaler is running low; and his manager is running out of patience.

Not to mention the nightmares are worse now than ever before. It’s all screaming and crying and _Eddie, look at me! Look at me!_ And when Eddie finally tears his eyes away from the horrifying yellow orbs set above a set of teeth that no earthly creature could ever have, he finds that stunning sapphire gaze that has him waking up afraid for another reason entirely than the monstrous entity he can’t seem to escape.

Somewhere in the darkest corners of his mind, he knows he’s already lost Richie once; and that if he doesn’t do something soon, it’s going to happen again. 

“That guy has been in here looking for you.” His manager’s voice is distant through the receiver. Apathetic.

“R- really?”

“Yeah,” a loud crunching sound crackles over the line, and Eddie imagines the older man shoving chips into his mouth with his greasy fingers. “Asking about you, too. What’s the deal, Eddie? Need me to get rid of this guy or what?”

Eddie tenses up, his free hand curling into a fist where it rests in his lap. “No! No, he’s not-” _He’s not the problem._ But he is, though. Eddie sighs as he digs his nails into his palm, wincing at the sting. He opens his fist to look at the scar, red and raw around the edges. “He’s fine.”

“Eddie. I’m running out of excuses to tell the others. You need to be back by Friday night or we’ll have to find someone else.”

“No! I mean- please? Please don’t do that. I need that job.” A single tear falls heavy into his open palm as he pleads.

“I know you do. And it’s yours, as long as you’re back on that stage by Friday at 8. Got it?”

“Y- yeah. Okay.” His shoulders fall in defeat in time with another loud _crunch._ “Got it.”

He drops his phone to the side and huffs out a breath as he stares at the screen; only now realizing that _tomorrow_ is Friday.

The next few hours are spent restlessly rolling around in bed, unable to focus on the show quietly playing from his phone. He thinks maybe he’s been locking himself in his apartment for too long, and despite his lack of funds and energy, he drags himself into the bathroom to freshen up when he makes the decision to go to the bar. 

He tries and fails not to think about Richie, about him sitting at the club every night waiting for Eddie to appear on stage. The guilt eats away at him, and as he walks the few blocks over to the little bar on the corner, he prays that he can drown all his worries in a bottle of cheap liquor.

Upon entering the bar, his first thought is that maybe he should just turn around and go home. But even as his eyelids droop and his body aches for rest, he knows that any sober sleep he may get would be filled with more images he didn’t have the capacity to handle, so as the door clicks behind him, he hopes that whatever cheap booze he can afford with the little money he has left will be enough to knock him out for the night.

The end of the bar is shrouded in soft yellow light from the little bulb hanging above it, but dark enough that he hopes he won’t be noticed by anyone other than the bartender. 

Men always propositioned him on the rare occasions he did go out, especially when he’s alone. Which is almost always, barring the few times he’d gone with some girls from work when they decided to grace him with an invitation.

“Hey, kid. Got ID?”

Eddie startles at the man’s gravelly voice, but quickly retrieves his ID from the pocket of his sweats to flash at the older man, who nods in affirmation and asks what he’s having. He orders his regular vodka soda with lime, and thanks the man when he drops it off.

“Gave ya a heavy pour. Looks like ya could use it.”

A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes pulls its way onto Eddie’s face, and he thanks the man quietly as he brings the straw to his lips. It’s strong, and Eddie hopes the man’s generosity doesn’t run out before he gets sufficiently tipsy.

By the time he’s on his second drink, he realizes that it really doesn’t matter whether he’s asleep or not. All he can think about is Richie and his dreams and whether or not it’s actually possible that Richie could be the other boy in those dreams. He knows it doesn’t fucking make sense, and he wishes he had someone to ask about it. Someone he could tell that wouldn’t immediately dismiss him as being completely batshit. By the time he’s slurping nothing but ice at the end of that drink, he thinks maybe Al - the bartender - would be a good person to start with. As if the man knows that Eddie is ready to speak up, he comes over, leaning in a bit with his forearm on the bar. 

“Doin’ alright, kid?”

“Not really. Wanna hear about it?”

The man laughs, but it's a kind sound; not that of someone laughing _at_ Eddie. And it eases his nerves just a touch. But then Al is looking over his shoulder before meeting Eddie’s eyes again, and he wonders if he misinterpreted. 

“Sure would, but first,” Al turns around fully this time, spinning back around to set a drink in front of Eddie, “Guy over there bought ya this. Payin’ your whole tab, actually. Maybe you oughta try talkin’ to him.”

Eddie furrows his brow at Al, who leans out of Eddie’s eyeline just enough so that he can see who he’s referring to. And he doesn’t even need him to move all the way, because he knows exactly who it is as soon as those satiny curls are in view. 

If he’s being honest with himself, he knew before he saw him at all.

Richie’s eyes are already on him, and it has his heart swelling and his hands going clammy. Al leans back in to cut off the view, Eddie’s eyes slowly flitting back up to his face.

“Or I can tell him to fuck off, if ya want.”

Eddie can’t help but giggle at that despite the jitters buzzing all over his skin. He shakes his head and glances at the seat next to him and back to Al’s eyes. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all, lemme know if he gives ya any problems.”

Then Al is walking to the other end of the bar, where Richie is already out of his seat before he even receives the message. Eddie thinks they have telepathy or some shit, at this point. 

He watches as Richie practically struts over to him, but it’s so obviously unintentional and fluid that it makes Eddie sweat, and he crosses one leg over the other, instinctively tucking his left hand between his thighs. That woody, redolent scent is filling his senses before Richie is even properly sitting next to him, and despite his heart and mind marathoning against one another, he hasn’t felt this calm since the last time he saw Richie. And he knows that he never wants to be away from him again. But as quickly as the thought enters his mind, he shoves it away, because _what the fuck?_ He feels like he’s going fucking crazy.

Richie settles in, a shaky little smile on his face. Eddie’s skin is so hot he thinks he might melt, and he does when Richie finally offers a soft, “Hey, Eds.”

Instead of greeting him back, he drops his gaze down to Richie’s drink and tries to stave off his nerves by saying, “Can I try that?” He hears Richie’s soft chuckle in return, but he slides the glass closer to Eddie, and his heart leaps into his throat at the sight of Richie’s palm when he pulls away.

“Don’t think you’ll like it.”

Eddie glares at him, which only makes Richie laugh again and Eddie’s cheeks fill with heat. He doesn’t even really want to try it, honestly. What he wants is the taste of Richie in his mouth, and this is a much smarter way of doing that than crawling into Richie’s lap and sealing their mouths together like he wants to.

He winces when it hits his tongue, shoving the glass back at Richie. He takes a long sip of his own drink to wash it away, and he vaguely hears the sound of Richie’s amusement next to him. The burning quickly turns to a soft buzz on his tongue and in his throat, though; and before he has time to think about it he mumbles, “Tastes different.”

Richie raises a brow, “Different than what?”

_Shit._

He sucks down the rest of his own drink to gain a few more seconds to come up with something to say, and decides on changing the subject entirely. 

“How have you been?”

It’s obvious Richie wants to pry, but he doesn’t.

“You want the truth or the generic ‘I’m good, how about you’ response?”

Eddie casts his eyes down and picks at the edge of his coaster with one trim fingernail.

“Richie…”

“I’ve been miserable, Eddie.” He looks up, his heart shattering at the melancholy swimming in Richie’s eyes. “I’ve missed you so fucking much. Being away from you? Not being able to see you it- it fucking _hurts.”_ Richie leans in close, and Eddie feels his resolve dangerously close to snapping. “It feels like…”

“Like dying?”

Richie searches his face, his lips parted just slightly; just enough that Eddie can feel his warm breath tickling his skin. 

“Worse.”

Eddie doesn’t realize he’s crying until Richie’s thumb is swiping across his cheek. Richie brings his thumb to his own lips, the tip of his tongue absorbing the salty teardrop. Eddie reaches out with his left hand to grasp Richie’s forearm, but the other man captures it with his own hand instead, and suddenly everything goes white.

And then Eddie can see it, bathed in light, every doubt in his mind banished with the golden rays of sun shining on those blurred out memories. He can see Richie, but he’s younger, awkward. Hasn’t grown into himself yet. He’s waving Eddie over to the cliff’s edge, and Eddie feels his heart beating so quickly with excitement. Richie takes Eddie’s hand in his, his teeth still too big for his mouth, but his smile is warmer than the blazing summer sun beating down on their shirtless bodies.

“You ready, Spaghetti?”

“ _Richie!_ ”

But he has no more time to protest, because their fingers are laced together and Richie is leading him to the edge, and then they’re jumping. Screams are all Eddie can hear until the loud _splash_ of them hitting the water. They both pop up, hair in every direction, and Richie says, “Fun, right?!”

Eddie drops back into the water to hide his own blush, and reappears only to push a tiny wave of water at Richie.

And then it’s suddenly black, only a dim beam of light shakily moving around whatever corridor he’s in now. His heart is racing for an entirely different reason as he tries to see around him, tries to tear open his fanny pack to get his inhaler. A hand on his shoulder startles him, turning him around and steadying him where he trembles.

“It’s gonna be okay, Eds. Here, let me,” It’s Richie, and he’s carefully opening up the fanny pack and uncapping the inhaler and pressing the plastic between Eddie’s lips, delivering one puff followed soon by another. Eddie relaxes, and he knows the warm hand cupping his cheek as he slowly evens his breathing is helping more than the inhaler ever could.

It’s not only in the memory that he can’t breathe as he returns to the present, his chest aching and his throat constricting. His knuckles are white where he clutches desperately to Richie’s hands, which is where his eyes fall as he tries to regain focus. It’s then that he realizes Richie has their left hands linked together; their scars flush. Blinking the clouds from his eyes, he carefully lifts his gaze to meet Richie’s, who looks as frightened as he feels. 

“Richie,” he croaks, still holding onto the other man’s hands tightly, scooting to the edge of his own seat until his knees bump into Richie’s. “What- did you- what was that?” Then Eddie feels it coming on again, slower this time but just as intense. He hurriedly pulls his hands away from Richie’s, and it stops. In fact, he already feels like he’s forgetting the things he just remembered. Like remembering mid afternoon that you’d had a dream the night prior, and the particles are still floating around in your mind but they never line up quite right so that you can recall it.

Eddie stares deliriously into Richie’s wide, unblinking eyes, and he suddenly wants to be somewhere else. Somewhere they can be alone and hide away in the darkness of his bedroom and try not to feel this terror pulsing through his veins.

“You alright, kid?”

Al’s voice has him nearly jumping out of his seat, Richie’s warm hand on his shoulder the only thing keeping him from bolting toward the door. The ice in his glass has melted and watered down any leftover alcohol, and he can feel Richie’s eyes burning into the side of his face as he stares at it, not answering the man behind the bar.

“I think we’re- we’re leaving. Right, Eds?” Richie’s voice is soft just like his touch, his other hand resting gently on Eddie’s thigh. Eddie blinks once, dragging his eyes lazily from Richie’s to Al’s. 

“Um, yeah. Thank you, Al.”

The man leans in a bit toward Eddie, eyes skeptical. “You sure?” Al narrows his eyes at Richie in warning, and Eddie hopes that Al does this when other loners come in here; watches out for them. Eddie forces a small smile and nods, placing a promising hand on top of Richie’s where it caresses his thigh. 

“Yes, I’m sure. See you next time?”

Al nods, accepting. “I’ll be here. See ya ‘round, kid.”

Eddie tucks his arm around Richie’s and follows him out of the bar, and he can tell from Richie’s stride how anxious he must be feeling. Eddie tries not to think about whatever it was that just happened, trying to keep his breathing under control.

He sucks in a big breath once they step outside, his lungs still feeling constricted, but better now with the fresh air. And honestly, the feeling of Richie against him is doing more to calm him down than any medication ever has. Richie keeps leading him away, into the parking lot, only stopping in front of a large, matte black motorcycle. Richie drops a kiss to Eddie’s hair before pulling his arm away only to grab his helmet off the seat.

Eddie stares up at him with wide eyes, fingers toying with the zipper of his fanny pack nervously; the fanny pack he’d dug out from the back of his closet the same day he’d decided to refill his inhaler.

“Are- is this- we’re riding this?”

Richie laughs, but it’s strained and uneasy, and Eddie just wants to wrap himself up in Richie’s arms and go to sleep.

“Yeah. You’ve never been on one?”

Eddie shakes his head, eyes dragging over it. He’s been thinking about it ever since Richie mentioned it to him all that time ago. What Richie would look like racing down the street, what it would feel like to be perched behind him, arms wrapped around Richie’s middle with his face pressed to his back. It seems he’s about to find out.

“Come on, put this on.”

Richie takes a step closer and lifts the helmet, but Eddie holds a hand up.

“Isn’t that yours? What are you gonna wear?”

“I’ll be fine, Eddie. Come on.”

But Eddie steps back, shaking his head. “No. I’ll just- I’ll just get an Uber or something, you can’t give me your helmet. That’s not safe and-”

“ _Eddie._ ”

Eddie’s eyes go wide at the firm tone of Richie’s voice, his fingers trembling and his heart slamming in his chest. Richie looks a little manic, his pretty eyes wide and crazed behind his lenses, and he decides not to argue with him any longer, moving back towards Richie and allowing him to place the helmet carefully onto his head. He clips it securely under Eddie’s chin, and Eddie admires the way his tongue peeks out in concentration as he tightens the strap. Then his eyes are back on Eddie’s, and his breath catches in his throat when Richie leans in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

Then Richie is turning back to the bike, swinging one long leg over and settling in his seat. He offers his hand to Eddie, who shakily takes it before clumsily climbing onto the back of the bike, sliding forward on the smooth seat until his thighs and chest are pressed flush against Richie’s body. Richie grabs both of Eddie’s hands and wraps them around himself, squeezing them reassuringly.

“Don’t let go, okay?” 

Eddie almost laughs at that, because why would he ever? But he can see Richie’s furrowed brow in the little side mirror.

“I won’t.” Richie doesn’t look away, so Eddie follows it up with, “I promise.”

Then the bike is roaring to life, muffled from under the helmet but still loud enough to have Eddie startling, his hands clasping together tightly against Richie’s stomach as he rests his head against the broad span of his shoulders.

It’s smoother and more relaxing of a ride than Eddie would ever have guessed, and after several turns and stop lights, Eddie realizes he doesn’t know where they’re going. He can guess Richie’s, and that’s what he’s hoping for, too. Because the idea of being at Richie’s house, in Richie’s bed, with Richie’s arms holding him close feels like the thing Eddie’s been missing out on his entire life.

He closes his eyes and just keeps holding on, and he tries not to think about how he’s already forgotten all those little images that flashed through his mind at the bar, and if Richie has too.

When Richie slows to a stop, Eddie finally lifts his head to look around. He isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t the house they are currently parked in front of. It’s not gaudy, but it’s definitely close. Windows stretch all over the sides, and Eddie can see the soft glow of string lights hung all around the porch. He isn’t really sure how else to describe it other than with one word that has jumped into the front of his mind.

Home.

Richie taps his thigh gently, pulling Eddie out of his daze. He curls his fingers into Richie’s jacket as he slides off the bike, managing not to trip as he lands on his feet. Richie kicks the little stand out before climbing off much more gracefully than Eddie, and he runs both hands roughly through his curls before turning to Eddie to unclasp the buckle and tug the helmet off. And then he’s suddenly laughing, and it’s real; jubilant, and Eddie’s a little taken aback by it considering the tension that’s been weighing on them since the bar.

“What? What is it?”

“Your hair.” Richie chuckles, bringing a hand up to pat down what Eddie can only imagine is static cling making his hair stand up in all the wrong directions, and his mouth falls open just slightly as he watches Richie’s face from under his lashes, the way his mouth is curled on one side into a little smile, and the way there’s still concern knitting his brows despite the moment of happiness.

When he drops his hand, Eddie just keeps staring, his cheeks flooding with warmth as he suddenly feels shy. “Is it okay now?” He reaches a hand up to gently ghost over his waves, trying to feel if everything is back in place.

“Yeah.” Richie says, lacing his fingers with Eddie’s and waiting for him to move. “It’s perfect.”

With every step toward the door, Eddie’s body trembles more and more. He’s nervous, of course. But it’s not a bad feeling. It’s thrilling, it’s electric. It feels like everything is coming to fruition, even though Eddie isn’t really sure what that _everything_ is. But he feels it in his bones, and when the door shuts behind him, he glances around the house, seeing band and movie posters lining the walls neatly, furniture that Eddie could never imagine being able to afford on his own, trinkets scattered around, a guitar sitting on its stand in the corner. And it smells just like Richie does, except with an overlay of fresh laundry and warm vanilla, and he wonders if Richie will let him stay here forever.

Richie kicks his boots off with Eddie quickly following suit. He startles when he feels warm fingers against his back, but relaxes easily when he realizes Richie is unclipping his fanny pack. 

“I’ll just hang it up here, if that’s okay?”

Eddie turns to see Richie hanging it on a little rack near the door, and he nods.

“Is this- did you like…” He pauses, trying to figure out how to ask properly. “I mean like, it’s so clean in here.”

A little laugh falls from Richie’s lips, and he pulls another wavering hand through his curls.

“Yeah, definitely not from me. I hire people to keep it this nice in here. I wouldn’t have a chance in hell at keeping this place neat on my own.”

And Eddie really wants to say _I could help you with that_ , but instead he hums softly in acknowledgement.

Richie moves closer to Eddie, about as close as he can get without physically touching him, and Eddie’s belly flutters when he feels Richie’s breath ghost over the side of his neck. He turns toward him, looking up at him, eyes taking in every single inch of his face under the soft yellow glow surrounding them. 

“You want a drink or…” Richie stares into his eyes, shoulders hunched nervously, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Or something?”

Eddie shakes his head, taking the final step toward Richie. Richie huffs out a breath, the hand that was rubbing his neck moves down to cup Eddie’s cheek, his thumb sweeping lightly under Eddie’s eye. He leans into it, his own hands coming up to grip onto Richie’s open jacket, and only then does he remember what happened at the bar. Not only has he forgotten the memories, but he’s almost forgotten that it even happened at all. His hands clutch tighter as he stumbles forward, and Richie’s hands grab onto Eddie’s shoulders firmly.

“Eddie? Are you alright?”

He feels his breaths picking up again, but he forces the words up from his dry throat, licking over his lips before saying, “I- I already forgot. I forgot what happened at the bar and- and the memories? Or… whatever that was. Richie? Do you remember?”

The fearful, perplexed look in Richie’s eyes is enough of an answer, and Eddie feels tears spilling onto his cheeks.

“Eddie…”

“What’s happening? Richie, what the fuck is happening? I’m freaking the fuck out.”

Richie pulls Eddie into his chest then, pressing his face against him as his strong arms wrap around Eddie’s shoulders, and Eddie can hear the soft shushing sounds Richie is making into his hair. But the sobs wrack his body, and he clutches onto Richie’s shirt as his tears soak into it. Despite the terror and confusion boiling through his veins, he feels safe in Richie’s arms. In fact, it feels almost imperative to his well being that he be here with Richie, the thought of pulling away from his embrace has knots twisting in his belly, and he wonders if Richie feels the same way as he presses Eddie closer to himself with each passing second.

When his tears begin to cease, he sniffles in a shaky breath and lifts his head, only to find almost imperceptible tear stains in Richie’s eyes as well. He feels Richie’s breath on his face and smells him with every inhale and he desperately wants to melt into Richie’s warmth. 

“Richie?”

Richie leans down, resting his forehead against Eddie’s and nods in response to a question Eddie didn’t even ask. Or maybe to all the questions Eddie didn’t ask. 

_Are you scared, too?_

_Do you feel safe with me?_

_Do you feel like you’ll shatter and crumble without me?_

More tears spill over Eddie’s lids, thick and hot; he blinks them away hurriedly so that he doesn’t lose a moment of seeing Richie’s face; seeing his freckles and the way his lips are a little chapped and the tiny scar next to his eyebrow. And he doesn’t even realize Richie is moving until their lips are crashing together.

He’s not sure whose tears he tastes against his lips, but it doesn’t matter. Eddie slides his arms up and around Richie’s neck, pressing up on the tips of his toes to get as close to Richie as possible, whining in the back of his throat when it’s still not enough. Richie’s hands are sliding down his back and over his sides and gripping his hips, and that little voice in the back of Eddie’s mind that screams at him to get away, to scrub himself raw until he can no longer feel the remnants of another person’s touch slowly fades away until he can’t hear it at all anymore; the only sound he registers being the heavy breaths through Richie’s nose and the dull squeaking of Richie’s leather jacket as he squeezes Eddie’s small body against himself.

Eddie pulls away with a gasp, slipping his hands into the shoulders of Richie’s jacket to push it off of his arms. It falls to the ground, and just as he moves to wrap his arms around Richie’s shoulders again, Richie is leaning down, and then Eddie’s feet are off the ground as Richie lifts him into his arms, one arm under his knees and one behind his shoulders.

“Can I take you upstairs?”

Eddie reaches up to brush his fingertips along Richie’s cheekbone and down his jawline, gently dragging them up to his bottom lip to press against it. Richie exhales shakily against his fingers, and his head drops against Richie’s chest with a soft, “Yes.”

He feels completely weightless as Richie carries him up the tall staircase, and his eyes only drift for a moment as they walk through the loft, the living room below them so soft and quiet and cozy. Then he drags his eyes back to Richie’s face, which is set in something determined and somber, and he misses all the details surrounding him as he admires Richie, a contented sigh leaving his lips when his back is gently being rested against the soft blankets of Richie’s bed.

Eddie’s hands smooth over the silky sheets, and he sighs again, watching with heavy lidded eyes as Richie goes to quietly shut the door and turn on the bedside lamp, casting the same soothing yellow glow around them as it had downstairs.

Eddie closes his eyes and drags his fingers up and down the bedding, flattening his palm to feel the cool material against his scar. A pang of unease washes over him when he thinks of the mark, but he tries to ignore it, opening his eyes to find Richie looking down at him from where he still stands next to the bed.

“What?” He asks sheepishly, bringing his knees together and halting his hands, suddenly wondering if maybe he’s let himself get too comfortable. But Richie’s eyes are so full of warmth and passion, and it looks like maybe he wants to smile, but Eddie knows he isn’t because of the weight they can both feel hanging around them, like it could fall down and crush them at any moment.

“You’re just,” Richie sighs, his eyes scanning Eddie’s face carefully, “You are so beautiful, Eddie.”

Eddie’s chest clenches, and a single tear escapes from the corner of his eye. He brings his hands up to his face, wiping it away before covering his face in embarrassment.

The bed dips to his side under Richie’s weight, and then two gentle hands are wrapping around his wrists and pulling his hands away. All his breath leaves him when he sees Richie hovering above him, his eyes bright and shimmering; his freckles peeking out against his pale skin; the slight part of his lips as he breathes in slow and steady. Richie just holds Eddie’s arms in the air for a moment as he kneels on the bed, one foot still on the ground. And Eddie considers wiggling his fingers, because he wants to hold Richie’s hands, but then that same pang from earlier tears through him again, and he whimpers softly in the back of his throat.

“What is it, baby?”

Richie’s hushed voice sends tingles all over Eddie’s skin, and he inhales shakily as they stare into each other’s eyes. 

“I just…” He really doesn’t even want to bring it up, because though he can’t be sure, he has a feeling that Richie is trying to avoid talking about whatever happened back at the bar. And Eddie doesn’t want that to ruin this moment, anyway. He’s been imagining this since the moment he laid eyes on Richie the first time that night at work, and it’s only been more persistent with each passing day. Insufferable after that night that they’d kissed. So he summons all the courage he can find inside himself to whisper, “I just want to be with you. Will you hold me?” He swallows over the lump in his throat, his body trembling as Richie blinks slow, as if holding back a waterfall of tears behind his lids. “Please?”

Richie releases Eddie’s wrists to climb fully onto the bed, carefully laying himself out on his side next to Eddie, his chest and stomach pressed against Eddie’s side. Eddie watches every movement, his hand lifting to graze a fingertip down Richie’s sleeved forearm, the warmth there tempting and comforting. 

He rolls onto his side then, so they’re facing each other, only a breath between them. Eddie’s heart hummingbirds in his chest as he presses his fingertips against Richie’s arm, feeling the breath he lets out ghost over his cheeks.

“Richie… please.”

Richie looks like he takes another moment to steel himself, but Eddie can’t stop whatever this feeling is that's brewing inside him. It feels like heat and love and pain and a type of desperation he’s never experienced before, and it’s all wrapping together into something that feels like it’s going to burst out of him if he doesn’t feel Richie against him. And he’s shaking, his whole body is trembling as if he’s freezing even though he can feel beads of sweat on his hairline, and through the blurry edges of his vision he sees Richie’s arm moving, and he closes his eyes once the firm press of Richie’s large palm rests against his ribs, curling around them and pulling Eddie closer to himself. 

Eddie gasps, his hands coming up to grip onto the front of Richie’s shirt. Richie’s breath is on his lips, and Eddie licks them hoping for a taste, a frustrated sound punched out of him when he doesn’t receive one. And those breaths come quicker now, more noticeable with the sheen of spit on his lips, and he forces his eyes open, knuckles going white with his grip as he stares into those blue eyes.

“Eddie…” Richie’s voice is strained, like he’s using all his self control to stop himself from rolling on top of Eddie and pressing him into the mattress with his body and his lips and his hands.

And he tries to say something, tries to make a coherent sentence as he watches Richie’s eyes slowly get closer, the warmth of his body cascading over his own as he does just what Eddie was imagining, the hand he has wrapped around Eddie’s ribs moving him onto his back. And the words still won’t come, because there’s no possible way to describe this; this feeling of absolution and finality and love. He can see in Richie’s eyes that he can’t figure it out either. So Eddie just nods, and he keeps nodding, allowing his trembling hands to find their way behind Richie’s neck, urging him forward. 

A relieved, yet needy sound bubbles up from his chest when Richie’s lips finally meet his, and it’s in that moment he knows he can’t ever be away from Richie again. He’s a part of him, somehow. They are each a part of each other. The part that’s been missing. The part they’ll die without if they ever lose it again.

The heavy breaths being huffed through Richie’s nose sound almost concerning, and his grip on Eddie’s ribs is so tight with both hands now, but his lips are still moving slow and sure against Eddie’s, like this is the first and last and only kiss they’ll ever be able to share. Eddie whimpers softly, his arms sliding all the way around Richie’s neck to hold him closer, his back arching into the hot grip. 

“Eddie,” Richie husks against his mouth, never fully pulling away. His thumbs are pressing into the skin above his lungs, as if he’s trying to make sure he has enough oxygen inside them. “Eddie, I feel like…” He presses their foreheads together, and Eddie whines when their lips stop touching. “Fuck, I feel like-”

Eddie nods again, trying to press impossibly closer, to feel Richie on every inch of skin and touching every blood cell and giving him each and every breath. He thinks maybe Richie wants to say _I feel like I love you_ or _I feel like this is what I’ve been waiting for my whole life._ So he tells him, “Me too, Richie,” his fingers twirling one of Richie’s curls gently. “I know, me too.”

A nod in return from Richie, and then his lips are back. But it’s fiery now, impatient and wanting. Eddie moans when Richie’s tongue presses against the seam of his lips, and he eagerly opens up for him, another moan when he feels the wet heat of Richie’s tongue against his own. He just keeps trying to tug him closer, parting his legs for Richie to climb between. Their bodies are pressed flush in every physically possible way, and it’s still not enough. And Eddie feels the tears rushing down the sides of his face when he realizes this, that they can’t get much closer without climbing inside each other’s bodies and nestling against the organs there, and he wishes there was a way for him to do that. 

Richie’s hands slide up to Eddie’s hair, his thumbs dragging over the wet lines on his cheeks and temples as he licks behind Eddie’s teeth; touching every crevice with the tip of his tongue and going back for more over and over again. 

Eddie holds on tightly, arching his back to press against Richie, crying out when their hips bump together and he can feel the evidence of their arousal hidden behind the confines of their clothing. He wants to tear everything off, to open up under Richie and let him take him away to a place where only they exist. He fists his hands into Richie’s shirt, little sobs breaking their lips apart as he continues trying to press kisses to Richie’s mouth while attempting to pull his shirt off. And he keeps rocking his body up, trying to feel that intoxicating friction again as he begins losing himself in the other man.

Richie’s large hands slide down to Eddie’s waist, holding him down against the mattress as he pulls his lips away, pressing Eddie’s head back into the pillow with his forehead against his.

“Eddie baby, are you okay?” His voice is rough and breathy, and Eddie doesn’t really know how to answer.

So he shakes his head and cries out when he can’t lift his body due to Richie’s grip, his vision blurry where he tries to keep his gaze locked with Richie’s.

“No I- I need you, Richie, please. Please,” He begs, his fingers scrambling against the material of Richie’s shirt shakily as more tears spill down his cheeks.

Richie drops a chaste kiss to Eddie’s swollen lips, his thumbs soothing circles into his skin where they’ve dipped under the hem of Eddie’s shirt. The feeling of Richie’s touch is searing hot, and he needs _more_. 

“Okay, baby. It’s gonna be okay, I’ve got you.”

Eddie cries out again, nodding as Richie carefully begins lifting his shirt up. Eddie only drops his hands long enough for Richie to pull the shirt off before they’re clinging back onto Richie. And Eddie wants his shirt off too, but he can’t find the words to ask when Richie begins slowly moving down his body, his lips starting at Eddie’s jawline before dragging over the column of his throat, his tongue dipping into the hollow and licking over his collarbones before moving down to his chest. Eddie can’t seem to catch his breath, his heart fluttering inside his chest as his fingers move to Richie’s hair, petting softly through it as Richie kisses his way to each of Eddie’s nipples, laving his tongue over each one slowly and deliberately. Eddie arches into it, feeling Richie’s breath gust over the wet trails he leaves on his skin, his tongue dragging down to his navel, pressing kisses to every new inch he finds. He stops once he hits the waistband of Eddie’s pants, his tongue dragging across the skin just above it before he pulls back, staring ardently down at Eddie where he sits between his legs.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Richie whispers, his hands splaying out on Eddie’s chest and moving down, soothing over his heated skin, “I’m here, okay baby?”

The way Richie somehow knows exactly what Eddie needs to hear has more tears spilling, and he nods, reaching out to Richie. Richie rests his hands on either side of Eddie’s head as he leans down, his lips meeting Eddie’s in a soft, slow kiss. Eddie shakily brings his hands to the hem of Richie’s shirt, gasping into the kiss when his fingertips brush over Richie’s skin. He stops there, though, and Richie sits up a bit to yank the shirt over his head, his glasses coming off with it. Eddie smiles at him; his messed up hair and the newly revealed skin, and he grabs Richie’s glasses from where they fell on the bed to carefully move them to the nightstand. Then he hesitantly brings his hands to press flat against Richie’s chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat behind his ribs.

His brain is screaming at him, trying to force the words through his lips that he so desperately wants to say. Because he does, he doesn’t know how but he does: he _loves_ Richie. Richie looks like he’s trying to decipher Eddie’s thoughts with the way he’s staring so deeply into his eyes. His hand comes up to move Eddie’s hair of off his forehead, and after another beat they’re kissing again, more intensely this time.

So intense, it has Eddie feeling feverish, his nails pressing into the skin of Richie’s chest as he lifts his head to push his tongue deeper into Richie’s mouth. But he’s pulling away, kissing his way back down to Eddie’s waistband, quicker this time. Eddie whimpers at the sight, watching as Richie’s long fingers curl into the elastic. He looks up to Eddie for confirmation, and he nods, licking over his lips as Richie slowly pulls the rest of his clothes down his legs, dropping them onto the floor.

“Jesus,” He breathes, his hands smoothing up and down Eddie’s shins slowly. “Eddie, I-” He cuts himself off, curling his fingers around Eddie’s ankle and lifting it up, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the delicate skin there. He does it over and over, goosebumps erupting all over Eddie’s body at the gentle touch, his fingers curling into the sheets as he watches Richie with heavy lidded eyes.

Richie drags his lips slowly up the length of Eddie’s calf, tongue and teeth darting out every few kisses to leave their mark. Eddie trembles in his grip, keening when Richie rests his leg over his shoulder and continues making his way up, his lips dragging over the tender skin of his inner thigh like this is the only thing he’ll ever have to do again. Like he could stay here forever.

“Richie,” Eddie gasps when Richie’s breath ghosts over his cock, his lips pressing into the crease next to it, tongue lolling out to lap at the soft skin there. His other leg is being steadily caressed by Richie’s scarred palm, and the feeling of the rough skin mixed with the feather light touch of Richie’s lips has Eddie feeling like he could float away. 

Once Richie’s kissed every bit of skin surrounding Eddie’s swollen cock, he looks up to Eddie once again, hands still massaging over his thighs. 

“Is this okay, Eddie? If you want to stop, please just-”

“No.” Eddie shakes his head quickly, reaching one hand down to Richie’s hair and the other to his cheek, his thumb touching the freckles dusted over his cheekbone. “Please, don’t ever stop, Richie.”

Richie exhales shakily, a bead of precome escaping the tip of Eddie’s dick under the gust. His hands squeeze reassuringly where they’re holding Eddie’s legs, and he presses one more kiss to his thigh before leaning down, allowing the head of Eddie’s cock to rest against his tongue.

Eddie tosses his head back into the pillows, his hand tightening in Richie’s curls while the other falls, desperately scrambling for something to hold onto. Richie grasps it with his own, and Eddie almost panics before realizing Richie is grabbing his unmarked hand.

All that worry is forgotten when Richie’s lips seal around him and slide all the way down to the base, engulfing him in the wet heat of his mouth. Eddie cries out, doing everything he can to keep his hips on the bed and not buck into Richie’s mouth. But then he’s sucking, and his tongue is swirling around him, and his teeth graze the underside just barely; just enough to have Eddie sobbing as he squeezes Richie’s hand like a vice, and he feels more than hears Richie humming around him, so he manages to tilt his head down to meet Richie’s eyes, and he nods once as if to let Eddie know it’s okay. He risks lifting his hips once, and Richie groans around him, beginning to bob his head, encouraging Eddie’s movements.

So he lets himself rock his hips up into Richie’s mouth, his thighs quivering in Richie’s hold as he does so, broken noises tearing up from his chest with each swipe of Richie’s tongue. And he’s already so fucking close, but he’s not ready for this to be over. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready for this to be over, so he whines as he curls his fingers deeper into Richie’s hair, sucking in breath after breath to try and find his voice.

“Richie, Richie; wait- just wait,” He whispers, moaning loudly when Richie slowly pulls off, his tongue dragging along the underside and pressing into the slit before he sits up, and Eddie moans again at the sight of his red, spit slick lips and the flush spilling from his cheeks down to his chest.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Eddie reaches for him again, and Richie immediately leans down, his lips quickly finding Eddie’s. The taste of himself in Richie’s mouth is foreign to him, something he’s never experienced, and he can’t get enough. There won’t ever be enough, but he sucks Richie’s tongue into his mouth to get as much as he possibly can. Richie’s hips press against his, the harsh material of his jeans making Eddie keen when they press against the sensitive skin of his cock. 

He breaks the kiss, reaching between them clumsily to pull at Richie’s belt; the tinkling of metal making him shiver. Richie groans as he tilts his head down to watch. It takes him a few tries, but Eddie finally gets his pants undone. He knows from this angle he won’t be able to push them down himself, so he brings his hands back up to Richie’s face. Richie meets his eyes, and Eddie drags his fingertips over the line of his freckles; his pronounced cheekbones; down to his full lips. His heart aches for the man above him; misses him even though he’s mere inches away.

“You’re beautiful, Richie.”

Richie looks almost shocked, and he hears him swallow before he leans in to drop a kiss to Eddie’s chin.

Then Richie’s pushing his jeans and boxers off before settling back into the cradle of Eddie’s hips, his fingers smoothing over Eddie’s forehead for a moment before he reaches into his nightstand, returning to his spot above Eddie with a bottle of lube and a condom, setting them down next to the pillow.

Eddie sucks in a shaky breath, his hands pressing into the skin of Richie’s shoulders as he lets his eyes fall down his body, and he moans at the sight of Richie’s naked frame, the line of hair that leads down to his swollen cock that hangs long and hard between their bodies. Eddie drags his hands down Richie’s chest, his trim nails grazing over the patch of hair on his navel, drawing a hiss from Richie, whose hips twitch slightly at the touch. Richie readjusts just slightly, and the motion bumps their cocks together, drawing broken sounds from deep within both of their chests. Then Richie is swallowing all of the noise as he seals his lips to Eddie’s, the fingers of his right hand skimming over his hip and thigh.

“Do you want to keep going, Eddie?”

His words are mumbled into the corner of Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie lifts his hands to push Richie’s curls off of his forehead so that he can see his eyes.

“I don’t ever want you to stop, Richie.”

Emotion is clear on Richie’s face, his blue eyes glassy as he drops another kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose before reaching for the lube, uncapping it and pouring some onto his fingers. His other hand rests on the top of Eddie’s head, thumb stroking softly over his forehead while he moves his now warmly lubed fingers down between Eddie’s legs. He slowly drags his index finger between Eddie’s cheeks, and his nails dig into Richie’s shoulders again, decorating the freckled skin with tiny half moons.

His legs spread further easily, and he watches as Richie moves his gaze down to watch the sight of his finger disappearing inside Eddie’s body.

“Oh, Richie.” Eddie whispers, hips already lifting off the mattress when Richie’s finger is all the way inside, staying still for just a moment before he begins cautiously pumping. His thumb continues soothing over Eddie’s sweat slick forehead as he presses kisses against his collarbones.

Eddie stops trying to make words when Richie begins pumping faster, Eddie’s hips rocking down against it as he gasps and mewls from all the sensations. Richie’s lips find his ear, asking softly if he’s ready for another, and Eddie nods quickly, his own fingers finding their way to Richie’s hair and clutching onto it. He cries out when Richie pulls out, sliding back inside with two fingers now. After only a couple thrusts, he’s found Eddie’s prostate, and the tears are back, dripping down into pools that soak into the sheets beneath him.

All Eddie can think about is how good Richie makes him feel; not just like this, but in every way. How he wishes he could do the same for Richie. How despite the man being on top of him and inside him and surrounding him, it’s not enough. He doesn’t think there’s anyway that he’ll ever be able to get enough of this man that he knows he loves, and the thought along with the pressure against his prostate has a broken, aching moan tearing up from his throat as he pulls Richie’s head up by his hair to land his lips on his.

Richie groans into it, and Eddie feels the hard press of his cock against his thigh where Richie rolls his hips against him, his fingers still expertly thrusting and spreading; the pressure against his walls and prostate has sparks exploding behind his eyelids.

“Please,” He gasps, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses the only thing he’s capable of giving Richie right now, “Please, Richie. I need you.”

“Just a minute, sweet boy. I don’t want to hurt you.”

And Eddie almost screams, almost tells him it doesn’t fucking matter. Physical pain is nothing compared to the raw, unending ache of knowing that Richie is what he’s been missing all this time, and now that he finally has him, he wants everything. His entire body is trying to curl itself into and around him, to crawl inside his chest while simultaneously dragging Richie inside of himself, and he doesn’t know how to handle this.

The thoughts leave him when Richie presses a third finger inside, cursing under his breath at what Eddie can only imagine is the stretch of his body, and he can feel himself giving way under Richie, sucking him in and begging for more. Richie’s breathing heavily against his ear, and Eddie keeps pressing his lips to Richie’s cheek, trying to find any way other than words to tell him _I love you I love you I love you._

He can feel the burning drip of precome against his skin where Richie’s cock is pressed against him, and he’s trembling from the pleasure of Richie’s long fingers rubbing circles over the spot inside him, and he just can’t fucking wait any longer.

“I’m ready, Richie, please, _please._ ” 

Richie growls lowly against his ear, taking the lobe between his teeth as he spreads his fingers a final time before slowly easing them out; Eddie’s empty hole clenching wantonly.

“Okay, Eddie baby. It’s okay.”

But Eddie cries out again, his arms slung around Richie’s shoulders as he holds him close. He wants to say more, but then he hears the tearing of the condom wrapper next to his ear where Richie’s using his teeth, and a sudden wave of panic washes over him.

He pulls back to meet Richie’s eyes, and Richie immediately stops his movements.

“What’s wrong?”

Eddie’s eyes dart between Richie’s and the condom in his hand, shaking his head. “I don’t want- I mean, I’m not- I’ve never…”

Richie’s brows raise, the thumb of his messy hand pressing comfortingly into his hip bone.

“Eddie…”

“I mean, if you- if you’d rather-” He glances at the latex again before casting his eyes down, cheeks flushing crimson. “I- I understand.”

Richie drops it to the floor, leaning down hastily to catch Eddie’s eyes. “God, no, Eddie. That’s not-” He sighs, blinking slow. “I want to feel you all around me, sweetheart. I just didn’t know- Jesus. Of course I fucking want that, Eddie.”

Something shifts in the air then, and it’s a blur as Richie is pouring more lube into his palm, stroking over himself with a groan. Eddie watches with hooded eyes at that, at the most arousing scene he’s ever witnessed. Richie’s scarred palm presses against the back of Eddie’s thigh, opening him wide. And then Richie’s above him again, the leaking head of his bare cock pressing against his hole as he rests his forehead against Eddie’s, one arm hooked around Eddie’s leg to keep him spread while his other leg rests around Richie’s waist.

With a soft kiss to Eddie’s lips, Richie slowly starts pressing inside, a deep groan pulling up from his chest as he pushes past Eddie’s rim. Eddie whimpers, clutching onto Richie’s shoulders tightly as he feels his body making room for Richie, allowing each and every inch inside of him; the slow drag of it has his eyes rolling back, his nails leaving red trails where they drag down to his back as Richie keeps going, his hips rolling forward until he’s finally all the way in, his hips resting against the soft flesh of Eddie’s ass, his breath leaving him in short, heavy pants in what Eddie thinks must be an attempt to remain still. He can’t think too much of that though, as the feeling of being so full and so _complete_ hits him, and he forces his eyes open so he can see Richie’s face through his unshed tears.

And he’s fucking _stunning._ His eyes are dark and hooded where he stares down at Eddie; his mouth hanging open as he steadies his breathing; his cheeks and neck flushed the prettiest red Eddie has ever seen. His hair is mussed and sticking to his forehead and temples, and Eddie feels the sheets bunch beside him where Richie’s fisting them tightly. Eddie’s eyes slide down to see their quivering bellies; the way he’s completely open and exposed for Richie; the way Richie has somehow managed to stuff himself entirely into Eddie’s body, and he moans at the realization, his hole clenching around the thick length stretching him.

“Jesus fuck, Eddie.” Richie rasps, and Eddie hears the tear of a thread where Richie’s fists squeeze even tighter.

Eddie tries to lift his head, but he’s shaking so badly that he just drops back down, pouting up at Richie for a kiss. He obliges, carefully leaning down to lick over Eddie’s bottom lip before kissing him deeply. Eddie wraps his arms around him again and his body moves slightly with the motion, making Richie huff out a strained breath into his mouth.

“Richie, Richie, oh my god, Richie.” Eddie babbles against his lips, trying desperately to hold himself together. A strange, soft fuzz has settled over his mind, and he feels the burn slowly subsiding into something molten and beautiful, and in his next breath he’s begging Richie to move, more tears wetting his cheeks as he pleads, his leg slipping where he tries to keep it hiked up on Richie’s waist.

Richie pulls out halfway before pushing back in, and Eddie can’t hold in his broken scream when the head of Richie’s cock thrusts directly into his prostate. Richie’s fingers curl around Eddie’s waist now, his lips moving to suck on the skin under his ear. 

“You good?” Richie thrusts again, Eddie’s body arching sharply into it. “Talk to me, sweet boy.”

“Yeah,” Eddie cries, Richie pulls out all the way before thrusting back in this time. “Oh _god, Richie,_ so good, so good.”

That’s when Richie finally starts letting go, his hips picking up a steady rhythm as he rocks himself into Eddie’s body.

And it’s so much; too much, almost, while not being nearly enough all at once. It feels amazing, Eddie’s hands are holding and his back is curving and his toes are curling; his entire body is opening up willingly to receive Richie, as if it were always meant to. And the same goes for his heart, that feels like it’s prying itself open to finally accept the other man into it, like he’s the only stitch that can keep it from ever breaking open again.

“Fuck, Eddie; you’re so fucking perfect, baby. Feel so good, so fucking good.”

He whimpers at the praise, tilting his head back to feel more of Richie’s mouth there, until his tongue is dragging up the column of his throat and to his jawline, lapping at the salty tears that are staining his face.

Richie’s hips are moving faster now, and he’s maneuvering so that both of Eddie’s legs are on his waist and his hands are on the bed near Eddie’s head. Eddie pries his eyes open, moaning when he finds Richie still staring at his face. He presses closer, pulls Richie into him more; everything around him blurring out so the only thing he can see and the only thing he can feel is just _Richie Richie Richie._

“Wanna be with you all the time, Richie.” Eddie gasps on a particularly hard thrust, and Richie grabs his waist again to pull him further down under himself, his ass off the bed now where he’s nearly bent in half. Richie’s slamming even deeper into him now, and Eddie can think of nothing else than this. And he never wants to think of anything other than this ever again.

“You will be, baby boy. I’m never leaving you.” Richie promises, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing in the air around them, and he digs his fingers into Eddie’s ribs. “Never fucking leaving you; never again, Eddie.”

It almost seems like a weird thing to say; as if Richie had ever been the one to leave him in the first place. But Eddie clings to the words, he chews them up and swallows them and they settle deep in his belly. He feels himself coming apart like never before, and he just hopes that Richie will be able to find all his parts and piece him back together.

“Richie, I’m- it’s-” He has no idea what he needs to say, but it doesn’t matter, because Richie is reaching up to grasp Eddie’s hand with his own, unwrapping it from around his neck to lace their fingers together and press it into the pillow above Eddie’s head. It’s exactly what Eddie needs; he needs Richie to hold him together, to hold onto him while he falls apart.

“I’m here, Eddie, I’m here. I’ve got you, baby.” Richie promises against his lips, his cock throbbing where he’s erratically shoving it inside him over and over. Eddie’s back is still arching off the mattress, desperately trying to push his own hips up to meet Richie’s thrusts as it all culminates deep in his belly, his aching, flushed cock dripping all over his stomach where it begs desperately for release with each bead of precome that escapes the slit.

Eddie clutches onto Richie’s hand, the nails of his other threatening to draw blood where they’re digging into his back as he falls apart, every tendon in his body unraveling as his blood boils, his skin red and tight all over his body as Richie continues sliding into him, the drag of his cock driving him mad as he pushes in to the hilt each time, his prostate sensitive from the constant stimulation as he feels himself tipping over the edge.

“Richie, don’t let go Richie, please, I’m- I’m-” 

Richie presses his hand harder into the pillow and keeps his eyes locked with Eddie’s, their breaths mixing between their mouths.

“I’ve got you, come on baby, you can let go, I’ve got you.”

“ _Richie.”_

And then Eddie feels sparks shooting up his arm from where Richie has their scars pressed together again, but it’s not terror he feels this time.

It’s elation; it’s heavenly; it’s _love_. 

Everything around them goes white except for Richie, and from the way Richie’s eyes widen and he lets out a ragged breath, Eddie imagines the same thing is happening to him. And even though it’s not really frightening and it feels so warm and gooey inside his chest, he still finds himself begging through his sobs, “I’m scared, Richie, don’t let me go.” 

“Don’t be scared, baby. I have you, come on, Eddie baby; let go for me, you can let go.”

And he finally does, his eyes falling shut when he tosses his head back as thick, white ropes shoot from his cock onto his stomach and chest. He screams his throat hoarse in pure ecstasy as he comes, distantly feeling the drag of Richie’s lips against his throat while he mumbles sweet nothings into his skin, and he only finally hears him clearly when his mouth finds its way back to Eddie’s ear.

“Oh fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good; gonna come, Eddie, holy _fuck.”_

“Please, _please Richie._ ”

Eddie screams again when Richie’s fingers press into the spaces between his ribs as he stuffs himself into Eddie one last time, an unrestrained growl escaping his chest as he fills him up, coating his insides with his release.

Richie’s hips keep rocking shallowly into Eddie as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm, and Eddie whimpers from the oversensitivity, but keeps his quaking legs around Richie’s waist in an attempt to get him to keep going.

Their sweaty hands have slipped apart, Richie’s fingers toying with Eddie’s damp hair instead now as they greedily suck in breaths. Richie’s lips are still pressing soft, soothing kisses into the skin of Eddie’s shoulder as his hips rest flush against Eddie’s ass. Eddie’s fingers tremble when he brings them to Richie’s face, thumbs smoothing over his cheeks until Richie finally lifts his head.

He swallows hard at the sight of Richie’s blown out pupils and slack jaw, and the tiny little smile that’s trying to curve his lips.

They stay like that, admiring one another as their fingers caress bruised and reddened skin until Eddie’s eyelids start drooping against his will. He wants nothing less than to sleep right now; he only wants to stare into Richie’s eyes and kiss him and hold him and _love_ him.

“Tired, sweet boy?”

Eddie whines at the hoarse drawl of Richie’s voice, the sound making the heat in his belly attempt to stir back up.

“Don’t wanna sleep.” His voice is wrecked too, and he whimpers when Richie’s softening cock twitches inside him.

“What do you want then, sweetheart?”

Eddie pushes Richie’s hair off of his forehead, and he feels tears searing the backs of his eyes again, and it feels like his heart will burst if he doesn’t tell Richie how he feels, but he’s scared. It’s all so fucking terrifying, and he turns his palm toward himself to glance at his scar as he remembers the bright, white light that surrounded them earlier.

“Did you see it, too?” Eddie’s eyes refuse to stay open any longer as the words tumble from his lips, his hands lazily falling to Richie’s shoulders as he clings onto the last remnants of consciousness before sleep takes him. “The light, did you see it?”

He feels the gust of Richie’s breath on his face, and then his body is being lifted until they’re flipped, stuck together with the mess on their chests and bellies. But Eddie can’t care, doesn’t even think about it as he rests his cheek over Richie’s heart, turning his head to drop an open mouthed kiss to the flushed skin. He cries out when Richie slips out of him, the cool air hitting his hole and making him shiver. But then Richie’s arms are wrapping around him and warming him right back up.

“I saw it, baby.” Richie whispers into his hair, and Eddie feels the pace of his heartbeat pick up against his cheek when Richie speaks. He wants to lift his head, wants so badly to see Richie’s face once more before he falls asleep. But he’s slipping away, and Richie’s hands are only pushing him closer to slumber as they caress and warm his skin. “Sleep, sweet boy.”

Eddie allows his body to melt against Richie’s, and just before he drifts off, a tiny, whispered plea falls from his lips.

“Don’t let go, Richie.”

“Never, Eddie.” And Eddie falls asleep to the feeling of Richie’s arms embracing him tightly against himself.

When he wakes up the next morning, the first thing he sees is the glow of sunlight through long curtains in a room he doesn’t recognize.

Blinking the haze from his eyes, he tries to lift his head to look around, but stops when he feels an arm around him. He looks down to see Richie’s large hand splayed over his belly, and he raises a brow when he sees the mess from the previous night is no longer there. He places his own hand on top of Richie’s, running his fingertips over his knuckles softly, a smile lifting his cheeks when Richie nuzzles into the back of his neck, pressing lazy kisses to his warm skin.

Eddie snuggles back against him with a giggle, Richie’s curls tickling him below his ear. When he tries to squirm away, Richie chuckles and holds onto him tighter, pressing Eddie’s back into his chest as he continues his movements, until Eddie’s whole body is shaking with laughter. He manages to spin around in Richie’s arms so they're facing each other, gasping for breath between his laughs as he grabs Richie’s face to stop him.

When he opens his eyes, he plans to say something, but all words are lost on him at the sight of Richie’s sleepy, sunlit gaze. His cheeks are plump with his grin and the tiniest bit pink, and instead of words, Eddie leans forward to peck his lips. He pulls back quickly, self conscious in the early morning haze, but Richie makes a snuffle of protest, pulling Eddie back in, his scarred palm pressing against Eddie’s cheek as he kisses him, longer this time. They keep their lips pressed together, just a languid, easy press of flesh as Richie’s fingers pull carefully through Eddie’s waves.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Richie’s voice is still rough, and it sends a shiver down Eddie’s spine as he presses closer, tracing over a red line on Richie’s chest. He flushes at the realization that he was the one to put it there, but he leans forward to kiss it before looking back up to Richie’s soft eyes.

And it didn’t occur to him until now that he did. He slept okay; he slept wonderfully. Restful and uninterrupted by the plague of nightmares he’d been experiencing for as long as he can remember. It’s so overwhelming that he feels his eyes get wet where he stares at Richie, offering him a small nod.

“I- yeah. I really did.” He whispers, feeling Richie’s hands tighten where they’re now linked behind his back. “Did you?”

Richie sighs, the sun already moving higher into the sky casting a golden glow over his freckled cheek. “Yeah. I think that’s the first time I’ve slept through a night since…”

Eddie waits for him to finish, but his brows furrow in confusion, almost as if he forgot what he was going to say mid sentence; his train of thought turned off course and got lost in the darkness. 

And that’s when it hits Eddie; what happened last night. Well, what he can remember, at least. Which isn’t much. He remembers the bar and seeing Richie and _something else._ Something happened, but what?

His heart rate kicks up immediately, and his eyes go wide as he searches Richie’s face.

“The bar… Richie do- do you remember?”

That look of confusion turns into something much closer to fear, his thumbs tripping up in their soothing rhythm against the skin of Eddie’s back.

He shakes his head once, but then bites his lip, cautiously looking into Eddie’s eyes.

“The light? That- that bright light. Is that what you’re talking about?”

Eddie’s hands clench into fists between them, his nails pressing into his scar that aches from the pressure. He tries desperately to think of what Richie’s talking about, thinks how to explain to him what happened at the bar.

But how do you explain something you can’t remember? 

It’s foggy and distant; just on the tip of his tongue, on the edges of his consciousness. He knows something happened, but can’t recall what it was, and it’s enough to finally have the tears spilling over his face. And when he focuses back in on Richie, he has silent tears streaming down his own cheeks, too.

“Richie…” Eddie’s voice cracks over the word, and he tucks his face into Richie’s chest as he sobs. The soft sounds of Richie shushing him gust over his hair as he presses kisses to the top of Eddie’s head. The tears don’t stop though, and he isn’t sure how long it is before he’s finally pulled from his wailing when he gasps in pain.

Richie pulls back, concern tugging on his features as he runs a hand over Eddie’s cheek.

“What? What is it, Eddie?”

Eddie sniffles, carefully uncurling his fist to find his palm angry and red, blood threatening to burst through the indents he’s dug into the pale slash in the center.

Richie huffs, bringing his hand down from Eddie’s face to wrap around his wrist, lifting it to press soothing kisses over the line. It only makes Eddie cry harder, because it hurts and he’s confused and so fucking scared, and he gasps again when a crack of light shines through in his mind.

“The scars…” He swallows hard, feeling Richie’s lips pause in their movements and his eyes drag back up to Eddie’s. “When we- when we put them together-”

“Eddie,” Richie warns, his fingers tightening around Eddie’s wrist.

“That’s- that’s what happened, right?” He’s verging on hysterical as he stares into Richie’s guarded gaze. “Please, Richie. Do you remember? Is that- is that what happened?”

Richie blinks slowly, a puff of air escaping his lips as he stares down at their hands. Eddie watches his face fall in reluctance, but he presses closer, eyes wild and mind racing. 

“Richie! Tell me if you remember, please.” 

“Yes, yes, I fucking remember.” 

Eddie recoils just slightly at the angry tone of Richie’s voice, but quickly returns when he sees his blue eyes soften in regret.

“Can we- maybe we should…” Eddie sits up, crossing his legs under the blanket as everything starts to click in his mind. But Richie is already shaking his head as he follows Eddie’s movements, sitting up with him, their knees pressed together under the blankets.

“No, Eddie.”

A choked cry bubbles up from his throat, his mouth agape in shock at Richie’s words.

“Wh- what do you mean, _no?_ Richie, we have to! We have to figure out what that was. We have to-”

“I said no.”

Eddie snaps his mouth shut, staring at Richie in disbelief. 

“Why?”

Richie leans forward, a hand curling around Eddie’s waist, but Eddie’s face is still contorted in confusion as he watches Richie’s turn into something he hasn’t seen before. Something emotionless.

“It felt fucked up, Eddie. Almost like it’s-” He sighs, and Eddie’s heart drops into his stomach. “Like it’s something we’re not supposed to see. Why else would we have already forgotten?”

“We can try again! This time we’ll know what we’re doing and we can focus and-”

“What if I don’t want to know? Maybe I don’t want to fucking remember, Eddie.”

Richie’s fingers tighten around Eddie’s ribs, but Eddie shoves his arm away with a scoff and tears in his eyes.

“How can you say that? It’s us! The memories were of _us_.” He pleads, and the sad look in Richie’s eyes has him second guessing himself. “W- weren’t they?”

His head hurts as he desperately tries to clear the clouds and just fucking remember what they saw. It keeps coming in flashes, like a tv show trying to break through the static on the television screen; is it really? Or is it just your eyes playing tricks on you?

Richie seems to deflate a bit, his fingers twitching where he has his hands in his lap, and Eddie can’t stop himself from reaching over to link their fingers together, his eyes peeking at Richie’s scar as he brings Richie’s left hand into his own lap.

“I don’t- I don’t remember, Eddie. It’s such a fucking blur and when I try to think about it my head fucking hurts and I just-” His right hand moves to soothe over Eddie’s thigh from above the blanket, his eyes earnest now. “I didn’t have the dreams last night.” Eddie gasps at the admission, because it’s the first time it’s been confirmed that Richie’s had the dreams, too. “I fucking _slept._ It was amazing, Eddie. And I just-” His hand lifts to cup Eddie’s cheek. “I think it’s because we’re together now. And fuck those memories and those dreams and whatever the fuck else, right?” He lets out a hysterical little laugh, and Eddie almost feels badly for what he’s about to do.

“I’m sorry, Richie.”

He thinks Richie realizes what his plan is just a moment too late, because just as Eddie is pressing their left hands together in his lap where he holds onto Richie’s wrist, he tries to pull away. But it’s already happening, Eddie’s heart leaping in his chest as the fog settles over his mind, not so quickly this time, and he lets himself drown in it.

“Please don’t go, Richie. _Please._ I can’t-”

Eddie’s pleas are shattered by his sobs as he presses his face into Richie’s chest. His small fists are balled into Richie’s soaked t-shirt, and he just keeps crying as Richie’s arms wrap around him.

“Eddie, Eds. Listen to me.” Richie pulls back to lift Eddie’s tear stained face; Richie’s eyes round and sincere behind his childhood glasses; the ones that are crooked and cracked and that he’ll be replacing as soon as he leaves Derry. “I’ll be back for you, I told you the plan, right?”

A choked hiccup slips from between Eddie’s lips as more tears roll down, and Richie moves to cup both sides of his face, wiping the waterfall of tears away with his thumbs.

“Right, Eddie? You know the plan, tell me the plan.”

Eddie shakes his head, fingers digging into Richie’s forearms hard enough to mark, but it doesn’t deter the other boy in the slightest. Richie’s lips press against Eddie’s forehead, and even in this terrifying moment, it brings a sense of calm to him.

Richie asks him again, softly against his skin before meeting his eyes once more. Eddie swallows over the lump in his throat, eyes struggling to stay locked with Richie’s.

“You- you’re gonna go and get a job and- and a place to live-” He pauses as another agonized sob leaves him, and he licks over his lips before continuing, “And then you’ll come back for me.”

“Yes, Eddie. That’s our plan.”

“I’m scared! I’m scared, Richie. Why won’t you just take me with you now?”

Richie sighs, pulling Eddie back into his chest, carding a hand through his hair.

“You don’t need to be scared, Eds. The others are still here. Just let me do this for us.”

Eddie shakes his head, rubbing his wet face into Richie’s shirt, “You’re the only one that I feel safe with.”

A deep huff leaves Richie’s nose as he presses a kiss into Eddie’s hair.

“They’re going to protect you, okay? I promise, Eddie. And it won’t be long, I’ll be back to take you away from this fucking place.”

And then the fog is lifting, and Eddie feels the warmth of Richie’s palm against his own and the tears on his face. The last thing he sees is Richie leaving; the last thing he hears is the horrifying laugh of something inhuman; and then he’s looking at Richie, who is shaking where he sits in front of Eddie.

Before Eddie has a chance to process, Richie is yanking his hand out of Eddie’s grasp, his brow furrowing into something despondent.

“Richie…”

“No!” Richie shouts, and more hot tears spill over Eddie’s cheeks at the sound of it. “I fucking- I can’t fucking do this.”

Richie pushes up from the bed, blankets slipping off as he turns his back to Eddie. He sees the red trails he left there before watching as Richie pulls a pair of sweats over his legs, his hands then lifting to tug roughly through his hair. 

“Please, Richie. I’m sorry I just-”

“Eddie, I can’t. I don’t want to fucking know, okay?”

Eddie feels his heart shatter like glass in his chest, and he sets his lips in a shaky line as he turns his back to Richie, reaching over the edge of the bed for his pants, pulling them on before standing up off the bed to grab his shirt.

Fully dressed, he wipes over his cheeks before walking around the bed toward the door, his eyes focused on the floor.

“Eddie, just fucking wait.”

“I’m leaving!”

Richie grabs his arm, making Eddie cry out from the rough grip.

“Eddie-”

“No.” Eddie states firmly this time, forcing his eyes up to Richie’s. “You- you left me, didn’t you?”

Richie shakes his head, his fingers pressing bruises into Eddie’s forearm.

“Eds…”

“You left me there. That’s why- that’s why you don’t want to remember. You left me in that shit town with my mom and whatever that-” Eddie distantly hears the laugh again, goosebumps breaking out all over his body. “That _thing_ was, and you never came back. So now-” His lip trembles as he sees the realization wash over Richie’s face, “I’m the one leaving this time.”

When he walks away, Richie’s hand slowly slips from his arm, the cool air around him replacing the warmth of Richie’s touch. And he doesn’t look back as he leaves Richie’s house and walks down the street, only pausing to order an Uber and wrap his arms around himself once he’s far enough away that he’s already begun to forget how to get back to Richie’s house.

The breakdown he’s been having since the moment he arrived home is slowly starting to subside, greatly in part due to exhaustion and not at all because he’s feeling any relief.

He’s reapplied his makeup five times now, the tears dragging black mascara down his cheeks repeatedly. He tries to will away these thoughts of Richie, of their night together, of these memories that he knows he’s having but can’t recall. Everything aches for so many different reasons, and he thinks he’s finally too drained to keep crying once he arrives at work and is getting dressed in his room.

The girls weren’t happy to see him, and the little bit of bother it still gave him normally was completely gone now. He toyed with his hair as he waited backstage for his set, and his mind wandered again. Wondering if Richie would be out there when he got on that stage. 

The bruises and bites Richie had left him with weren’t easy to cover, but he managed. And the lights on stage are meant to make everyone’s skin look smooth and soft, so he carefully spins around the stage, not touching his neck or chest or face as to keep his makeup on place; not showing off his arms or hands, choosing instead to keep his outfit on for the entirety of his performance. That is usually frowned upon, but so much of the audience is just happy to have him back that they didn’t let it bother them too much.

And Eddie knew exactly who was out there, tossing money his way.

There was the man who’d recently gotten divorced and had been hooking up with the short brunette dancer; there was the man who’d offered Eddie a ‘chance to get out of here’ a long time ago but Eddie had obviously turned down and to his surprise, the man wasn’t an asshole about it; there were the business guys and the party guys and the wanderers.

But the most apparent presence in the room was that of Richie’s seat, which was now occupied by an unfamiliar face, a man who was chatting up the cocktail server as she dropped off his drink. The tears burned the backs of his eyes again at the realization that Richie really wasn’t here. His chest felt hot as he held the emotions back, forcing his shy little smile on for the crowd as the song came to a close and he gathered his money, only allowing himself to come undone once he locked himself away inside his dressing room, touching his arm with shaky fingers in the last place that Richie had touched him before he’d walked out of his house.

It goes on like that for what feels like an eternity.

Every day is the same. Eddie’s trapped in bed by fear and depression, checking his phone only to remember they’d never even had the thought to exchange phone numbers. Then he considers showing up to Richie’s house, but he hasn’t a clue how to get there. He thinks of returning to the bar he’d met Richie at, but the overdraft fees in his bank account don’t allow it.

Despite the money he’s been making over the last few weeks, he still can’t catch up without Richie’s help. He’s managed to keep his lights and phone on, and rations a box of crackers and some cans of soup. His usual calming tea has been replaced with tap water.

And the _nightmares._

The nightmares are worse than they’ve ever been. He wakes up in cold sweats; screaming and sobbing and tearing at the sheets that have come up on the corners of his mattress.

For the first week or so, he’d run into the bathroom and flip the lights on and hunch over the sink, willing himself not to throw up the little food he’d allowed himself that evening. He’d stare into the mirror and find the marks on his body from Richie’s lips and teeth and fingers. And he’d touch them; the purple blossom on his throat; the finger shaped bruises between his ribs; the lingering teeth marks on his collarbone. Mixed with his inhaler, it was enough to relax him so that he could crawl back under his sweat soaked blankets and pray for an hour’s worth of restful sleep.

But the marks had faded now, even the biggest, darkest one he’d discovered on his inner thigh was healed, and he felt nothing at all when he pressed into that spot now other than devastation and regret.

He distantly recalls the strange experiences he and Richie had shared. Memories, he thinks they were. But it’s impossible to know for sure. Any time he allows himself to think about it, his palm aches and sweats, and he drags the fingernail on his opposite index finger down the line, wondering what it’s trying to tell him. He feels the pulse of his heart inside of it, and wonders if there’s a way to get it to show him these things long enough so he doesn’t forget again.

And it makes him wonder why he’d even walked out on Richie that day. What had they seen that was enough to have him storming out the door of the house the man he loves had welcomed him into? After a night that Eddie tries to relive every moment of every day; the drag of Richie’s lips and the firmness of his hands and the way he’d pressed Eddie into the mattress and made him feel loved and desired and wanted. It was harder now, without the proof on his skin. 

The way they’d laughed together that morning makes Eddie’s chest tighten; the tinkle of Richie’s heartfelt chuckle in his ears, the warmth of his breath on his skin. He can’t figure out where it went wrong, how it went from the press of their palms to Eddie sobbing on the street corner while his driver pulled up, awkwardly attempting to make conversation with Eddie on the drive to his apartment.

He doesn’t remember what happened, but he knows it was devastating. It had to be. But what could have been enough to drive him away? And to keep Richie away from him in return. 

That was the hardest part to deal with. Richie had really stopped coming to see him, and he had no way of knowing if he’d ever see Richie again. The ache in his chest at the thought was unbearable and sickening. And familiar.

Any hope Eddie had of seeing Richie again had left him after three full weeks passed by. He was numb, now. The tears stopped coming aside from in his restless sleep, and the pain in his chest was normal, now. Sometimes he even forgot about it.

The weight of his bills hadn’t gotten much lighter; though Eddie had, from his lack of sustenance. At this point, he was just grateful he still had a roof over his head.

People were starting to notice, too. His boss gave him a look somewhere between concern and unimpressed, telling him, “Looking a little thin there, Eddie. You eating?”

Eddie only shrugged in return, saving all of his energy for the stage. Putting on a show was already exhausting enough without the constant reminder of having lost the only good thing he’d ever had.

Luckily, though his boss wasn’t the most stand up guy in the world, he’d been bringing a bag of groceries to Eddie once a week. Eddie was his best dancer, after all; he was more of an investment than anything. At least that’s what Eddie assumed was the reason. It was simple stuff: bread, milk, eggs, and a few other ingredients so that he could turn those things into a meal. He was grateful, sure. But he didn’t think food would be able to curb the cravings he has.

He finally has a day off tomorrow, which at this point is honestly not even something he wants. He’d rather be at work, making money and still clinging onto the last shred of hope he has swimming around in his heart that maybe Richie would show up.

Richie is nowhere in sight when he steps out onto the stage. Even though the other aches had been dulling, the painful churn in his stomach hurt just as bad - if not worse - every single time he scanned the crowd in search of those pretty blue eyes.

And now that all his bruises have healed, he decides to show a little more skin than normal. He slips his shorts off to reveal the boyshorts he has on underneath, receiving many pleased hoots and hollers from the crowd. He sees more and more green paper flying all over the stage, and it encourages him to begin lifting the hem of the tank top he’s wearing. What does it matter anyway? He’s so numb now that the thought of someone touching him barely makes that sickening twist in his stomach anymore. The thought of doing private shows has crossed his mind several times now, because he knows he’d be able to make so much more extra money that way. There’s several familiar faces in the crowd tonight; ones that have asked for a show in the past. He could walk out of here with enough money to put a halt on the disconnection notice he’d received from the electric company.

But just as he pulls the shirt over his head, seductively dragging it down to his chest and clutching onto it as he stares out at the whistling audience with half lidded eyes, everything stops, including his heartbeat.

Because he’s here. Richie is fucking here, not in his usual seat that’s been taken over by random newcomers, but by the bar, leaning against the wood with his elbow as he sips his bourbon, his eyes boring into Eddie and feverishly heating his skin.

It’s too fucking much, it’s more than he can possibly handle right now. 

Then he’s dizzy with too many possibilities: is he dreaming? If he is awake, maybe that’s not even Richie; maybe he’s gotten glitter in his eyes and it’s fucking with his vision. And if it is him, why is he here? Why the fuck after so long would he show up like this?

Eddie’s belly is already lurching as the song comes to a close, and he retrieves his money as quickly as possible before running off stage, catching sight of Richie once more before he’s barreling down the hall to his room, barely making it inside to lock the door before he’s vomiting into the trash can, his entire body convulsing as he empties the meager contents of his stomach into the small bin.

He collapses against the wall when the dry heaving finally stops, his palms pressed shakily against his turning stomach as he sucks in breaths, tears rolling down his cheeks and down his neck, onto his bare chest. Everything is already spinning, but it goes out of control when his mind wanders back to Richie. What if it was him, and Eddie had run off _again._ What if this was his last chance, and now he would really be losing Richie for good?

He cries out, his fingers pulling harshly on his hair as little blurs and splashes of images invade his mind. It’s all blue eyes and screaming laughter and friendship that turns into darkness and terror and _Eddie! Eds! Hold on to me!_

His palm is pulsing again, and he really can’t figure out if he’s imagining it or not; the way it seems to beat as if it is its own entity, with a beating heart that doesn’t quite match the pace of his own.

When he pushes his fingers into it, it almost feels like maybe he can see again. Like the cloak is being lifted from that place so deep in his mind and he can finally start to see whatever the fuck is hiding back there.

He drags his fingertip over the indents on his palm; where his nails have dug into it so brutally it’s begun to bruise black and purple around the edges, and then he’s pulling himself up onto his knees, yanking the drawer of his vanity open to dig around desperately, until he brushes over a cool piece of metal.

His boss had given it to him after the night the man had grabbed him for refusing a private show.

_Doesn’t hurt to protect yourself, Eddie. You should keep this on you._

Eddie truly had no idea what he’d ever do with a knife. If one of those big, drunken businessmen cornered him in a dark corner of the bar or in the back alley, he’d freeze in terror before having a chance at doing shit. Even if he wouldn’t freeze, he knows he’s not strong enough to defend himself with a small blade against an intoxicated, angry blob of a man.

So he’d left it in his drawer all this time. When he flicks it open, he gasps at the metallic sound it makes. It glimmers in the dim light surrounding his mirror, and he shakes as his eyes dart between it and his palm.

All of this has been making him fucking crazy. He feels like he’s gone completely fucking batshit; it feels like maybe Richie was never real at all. Like the time they’d spent together were only dreams. Or maybe they were nightmares too, since he’s never felt more scared or lonely than he has in the last few weeks since he’d been with Richie. He wishes he could go back to before, when the loneliness wasn’t shoving him deeper and deeper down, when the nightmares were becoming almost bearable since he’d been having them for so long, when he didn’t need his inhaler and his biggest fear was getting evicted.

It’s impossible to imagine what would be worse: if he’d actually lost Richie - real, beautiful, perfect Richie - or if it had never been real all along. If it’d all been a part of his fucked up, broken memories that taunt him every second of every single fucking day.

The tip of the knife is pressing into his scar before he even really registers that he’s doing this, and his eyes go huge as he pushes it in deeper, a bead of blood escaping over the tip of the knife. And it hurts, it hurts so fucking much. But it doesn’t feel even close to as bad as the dread and agony of everything else. So he begins dragging it down, down, down; until he’s pierced through the length of the gash and the blood is spilling out so much faster than he’d anticipated. He clutches onto the handle of the knife and closes his eyes, waiting for the fog to lift so he can see. God, he just wants to fucking _see._

His body wracks with his sobs when nothing comes to light, but he keeps waiting. Keeps his eyes screwed shut as he squeezes his palm, crying out from the pain as more blood spills out, seeping from his fist and down his forearm until it’s dripping on his thigh and rolling down to the floor, and he just screams.

He screams for himself, for all the shit he’s been through all these years with seemingly no end in sight. No fucking bullshit bright light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel.

He screams for his younger self, the one in the nightmares; that seems so happy, only to have it all torn away when that disgusting creature makes its appearance and turns every dream into a horrid nightmare.

He screams for Richie, who he fucking _loves._ Who found Eddie and figured him out and took all his mangled pieces, held together with the weakest tape and glued them carefully back in place with his delicate fingers and his soft lips.

For Richie, whose touch he misses more than he’s ever missed anything in his life. He aches for it, craves it like it’s the last drop of water in a million mile desert, and as the warm blood continues to spill, he gives up on the memories and instead tries to feel Richie’s touch on his skin. His large hands, calloused where he grips the handles of his motorcycle but soft and gentle everywhere else. His long fingers that press into his skin and keep him from unraveling. They’re warm and sure and Eddie can almost feel them on his face as the screams turn into whimpers, as he allows a haze to take over. He can almost feel Richie’s thumb on his bottom lip, pulling down before he slots their mouths together and has Eddie eagerly forgetting everything else except this moment and each and every moment with Richie.

The velvety drawl of his voice, it gently crawls into his ears and lifts him up, higher than he’s ever been. So high he thinks he’ll never come back down as long as he has the gentle hum; that raspy murmur; that debauched moan pressed against his skin as Richie takes him far away.

It’s all shattered with the sudden, loud _thunk_ of something hitting Eddie’s door. His eyes fly open, and he blinks away the daze when he hears a muffled voice.

_...you need to stop running away. You say I left you? You keep leaving me, Eds! You keep running away!_

“Richie…” He tries weakly, his eyes finding the flipped lock on the doorknob. He wants to push himself up, to let Richie in. But he’s too weak, too tired. And maybe this is all just a dream anyway. So he drops his head back against the wall once more and tries to hear Richie’s voice, even in anger. Because that’s so much better than never hearing it at all.

But then the door is swinging open, slamming into the wall behind it hard enough to nearly knock Richie right over as he races inside, his hair a tangled mess and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Eddie wonders if maybe he kicked it open with his big boots, but he can’t really be bothered to try to figure that out right now.

Richie’s heavy breaths break through the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears as their eyes meet. Eddie weakly reaches up with his blood soaked hand, the knife clattering against the floor as more tears roll down his cheeks.

“Richie,” he whispers again, Richie’s eyes wide in shock as he stares down at Eddie, remaining still for only a moment before he’s rushing to his side and grabbing his bloodied wrist to see the damage.

Eddie knows this may just be a dream, but he’d rather stay asleep with this than wake up to find himself alone again.

“Eddie? Eddie, what the- Jesus Christ! Jesus fucking Christ,” Richie’s voice warbles in his ears, and he sees the glimmering wetness behind his lenses as Richie desperately looks around for something. Eddie lazily tries to follow his gaze, but gives up as his lids start to droop.

“Richie…” He says again, the first real smile in weeks pulling onto his tear streaked face, “Oh, Richie, I missed you. I miss you so much, Richie.”

A hysterical sound tears up from Richie’s throat as he shoves his jacket off his shoulders before pulling off his overshirt. Eddie remembers the t-shirt he has on underneath; it’s the same one he wore during their night of twenty questions, he thinks. The hand not in Richie’s grip presses clumsily against it and he smiles again.

“I remember this shirt.”

Richie is hastily wrapping Eddie’s gushing hand up in the material, tying it into a messy knot before he’s lifting Eddie into his arms and cradling him against himself, his hot tears falling down his jaw and landing on Eddie’s skin.

“What the fuck, Eddie? What the fuck did you do?” Richie’s words are strangled through his sobs as he holds tightly to Eddie’s small body, and Eddie rests his head against his solid chest, his unharmed hand raising to brush over the line of Richie’s jaw.

“I don’t know I just-” Eddie sucks in a shaky breath as he stares up at Richie; and he feels so real. So he lets himself melt into the other man as the bleeding begins to cease, and he closes his eyes with a soft hum. “I was trying to remember. I was trying to remember you.”

Richie presses his face into Eddie’s hair to stifle the agonized cry that pulls up from his chest, his lips leaving kiss after kiss against his head.

“I’m here, Eddie. I’m right here, baby. I’m so sorry- fuck, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Eddie shakes his head against the material of Richie’s shirt, his body relaxing for the first time since that morning with Richie. And he decides if they make it out of this, he won’t ever leave Richie again. Even if this is all a dream, he’d gladly fall endlessly through this limbo if it meant he’d wind up in Richie’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, drifting off as Richie’s warmth envelops him. “I’m sorry, too, Richie.”

Eddie wakes up in a stupor, his eyes adjusting to the fluorescent lights surrounding him. He’s in a hospital bed, and the realization has him leaning over the side to vomit. Luckily, it seems someone had the foresight to leave a bin there, and he only makes a little mess. Then his heart picks up and the ringing in his ears deafens him, and he looks around frantically to try and make sense of what’s happening.

“Eddie, Eddie baby. It’s okay.”

It’s Richie with tired eyes at the side of his bed, a warm hand on his shoulder soothing him.

“What is happening?” Eddie groans, deflating back against the pillows. Richie’s hand drags down the length of his right arm before lacing their fingers together, and Eddie clutches on as tightly as he can.

“Your hand, you-” Richie sighs, struggling to even look at Eddie’s bandaged hand. Then everything comes back to him. Hazy, but much clearer than his memories normally are.

“I- I remember.” His voice cracks, so he clears his throat and furrows his brow up at Richie.

“Here, baby.” Richie grabs a cup of water from the side table, and Eddie catches the straw between his teeth to suck it down.

Clearer now, he says, “Was it bad?”

Richie huffs, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, placing Eddie’s hand in his lap, his thumb soothing over his knuckles.

“It’s okay, they stitched it up and you’re going to be perfectly fine.” Richie looks so pained, and Eddie’s heart aches in his chest. “Can we- do you want to talk about it?”

“I just-” He sighs, stretching the fingers of his left hand, a dull ache resonating under the bandages. “I don’t know why, really. I thought I wasn’t ever going to see you again. I thought maybe you weren’t even real, and I still don’t-”

“Eddie.”

He stares at him with wide eyes as Richie leans in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. The warmth seeps into his skin, drawing a sigh from Eddie’s lips.

“I’m real, okay? I know that-” Richie looks reluctant as he pulls back, meeting Eddie’s eyes. “I know that things have been weird. But I’m real and this,” He squeezes Eddie’s hand tightly, “This is real.”

Eddie nods, feeling tears burning the backs of his eyes. But then the reality of everything hits him all at once, and he’s suddenly realizing if this is all real, then he is truly in a hospital bed, currently racking up an ungodly bill while he sits here like he’s incapable of moving.

“Richie, we need to leave.”

Richie shakes his head. “What?”

“I can’t- I can’t pay for this! Oh my god, this is going to be so expensive, Richie.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Eddie’s eyes shoot back up, confusion knitting his brows together.

“How can I not worry about it?”

“I’m taking care of it.”

“Richie-”

“Don’t argue with me, alright?”

So he doesn’t, even though he wants to. But he’s tired and Richie’s hand is so warm and Eddie just wants to sleep. He scoots over, looking up at Richie from under his lashes. Richie smiles, easily slipping into the space beside Eddie, carefully wrapping an arm around his middle.

“When I’m not sleepy, I’m gonna fight harder about this.”

Richie chuckles, his fingers brushing the hair away from Eddie’s forehead.

“That’s fine, on one condition.”

Eddie snuggles into Richie’s chest, bandaged hand tucked up under his chin. He tries to ignore the dull throbbing, tries not to listen to the voice in the back of his mind that tells him he needs to keep trying.

“What is it?”

Richie pulls Eddie close, warm breath washing over his skin.

“Live with me.”

Eddie gasps, pulling back so that he can see Richie’s face. What he finds there is so earnest and ardent that his heart swells three sizes and leaps into his throat, and he forces himself not to immediately agree, instead croaking out, “Why?”

“I can take care of you, Eddie. You can take your time and find a job you love. I’ll make sure you always have the food you like,” Richie’s thumb skims over the papery hospital gown, where Eddie’s ribs have become more pronounced, and Eddie knows he wants to say more about that subject, but he seems to let it go for now, “And we can be together, Eds. We can sleep together every night and wake up together every morning.” Eddie hears the unsaid _and maybe we won’t have nightmares anymore._ Tears are falling and his lips are curling up and he lets out a giddy little giggle, because he knew before Richie explained that he wanted to say yes. That he _would_ say yes.

“O- okay. Yes.”

The smile splitting Richie’s face is enough to have Eddie giggling again, and they eventually drift off like that: smiling, in each other’s arms, under the bright lights; they fall into a restful, dreamless sleep.

~

The first month is a whirlwind, bringing the few things Eddie actually wants to keep over to Richie’s house, cleaning the apartment, quitting his job. He was still nervous about that, about allowing Richie to take over and let him help Eddie out while he finds a different job. But Richie is _wonderful._

Turns out Richie is a writer for Saturday Night Live, which makes a little more sense as to why he has so much money. He tells Eddie that he always imagined himself in front of the camera rather than behind it, but he kind of likes it. And writing has been going well for him, so he is comfortable sticking with it.

Every day is better than the last, and Eddie just really can’t get enough. He thinks Richie feels the same way, considering the way his face lights up brighter each time they first see each other after a long day.

It’s not much, but Eddie decides to get a receptionist job, and he actually really loves it. It’s so relaxed and calm, and the girls here are much nicer to him than the girls at the club.

And then every night they come home, and they attempt to cook dinner together. Tonight they’re making chicken alfredo, and it’s actually turning out well. More often than not they get distracted joking around or by some game show on tv or by kissing and touching, and the food burns and they have to toss it out, choosing to order take out instead.

Those are Eddie’s favorite nights, when they curl up on the couch together and wait for their food to arrive, with Netflix mumbling in the background. Because he gets to lay on top of Richie and draw little designs into his t-shirt covered chest with his finger. He gets to feel the heat coming off of him; he gets to inhale that delicious scent that twists it’s way into his nostrils deeper each and every time. He gets to kiss and touch and feel and just _be loved_ by the man that he loves in return. It’s mind boggling, if he’s being honest. 

They’re sitting upright now, though, as they eat their noodles and watch Little Miss Sunshine. Richie makes little comments throughout that have Eddie giggling more than the actors ever could, and once they’re finished, Richie takes their dishes and sets them in the sink before returning to sprawl out on the couch, pulling Eddie on top of him.

Eddie always feels so small and so safe in Richie’s hold like this. But sometimes, without preparation, he catches sight of his palm. The bandages and stitches were removed some time ago, and it’s healed now, though if he presses into it just right, it still hurts. He still zones out and feels that fuzzy edge on his senses like he’s just on the brink of remembering. 

They don’t talk about that. Eddie wants to, desperately. He wants to press their palms together again and see what happens. But he knows Richie doesn’t, so he keeps it to himself.

Mostly. He’s still human, and he’s been unable to resist slipping his fingers between Richie’s in the dead of night while the other man sleeps, and presses those scars together in an attempt to draw something out. It hasn’t worked, and that’s only served to make Eddie more hysterical. Maybe if he knew why, it wouldn’t be so bad. He thinks maybe it’s because Richie’s asleep, maybe it’s because they’re actually together now, maybe it’s because he fucking sliced himself open and ruined whatever weird connection they had through the scars. He feels guilty about it, though; for betraying Richie’s trust that way.

“Baby.”

Richie’s smooth voice pulls him back to the present, and he lifts his head to rest his chin on Richie’s chest.

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

This is how he knows Richie is aware of what’s going on. Because every time Eddie starts to drift away, Richie pulls him back, never letting him get too far. Eddie’s grateful, but he also knows what Richie is trying to avoid.

“I’m-” He squeezes his fist, and he winces a bit at the feeling against his tender skin. He sees that flash in Richie’s eyes, and he knows it’s fear. “I need to tell you something.”

Richie looks pensive, but he nods, his hand coming up to cup Eddie’s cheek. The unmarked one. The other is stroking the small of Eddie’s back just under the hem of his shirt and sending shivers all over him.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Eddie sighs, tucking his hands under his chin, his fingers still drawing nonsense designs against Richie’s chest. 

“Sometimes at night I-” He casts his eyes down, the guilt hot and heavy in his gut now. Richie strokes his thumb over his cheek in encouragement. “I still try. I put them together and I still try.”

Richie’s chest lifts with a long inhale, and Eddie feels the warmth of it cast over his face when he lets it out. 

“I know.”

“Wh- you _know?_ ”

Richie frowns, shrugging. “I’m awake when you do it, sometimes.”

And that’s concerning, because it quickly eliminates one of the reasons why it doesn’t seem to be working anymore.

“Why don’t you say anything?”

Richie just shakes his head, and Eddie sees the way his jaw clenches and his throat constricts, and suddenly he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. So he leans up, his toes pushing into the cushion under them until he can reach Richie’s lips, and he kisses him the way he knows Richie likes; soft and heavy and fervent.

Richie’s hands wrap around Eddie’s waist after a moment, moving until they’re sitting up on the couch, Eddie straddling Richie’s lap.

They have sex _a lot._ And yeah, it’s because it feels fucking amazing and Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of Richie’s hands and his skin and his _oh fuck, baby; you’re gonna make me fucking come._

But more than anything, Eddie knows it’s the closest they can physically get. Richie buried inside of him, wrapped around him, sharing breaths. And if there were any other way to be that close, he’d be more than willing to give it a try. For now though, he moans against Richie’s lips when his hands cup his ass, and he drops his hips down to find Richie already straining behind his jeans.

It’s mere moments before Richie is pulling Eddie’s pants down over his ass and then clumsily reaching between them to work on his own. Eddie’s fingers curl deeply into Richie’s hair, whining at the tell tale sound of his belt buckle being ripped open, and then Richie’s lining himself up with Eddie’s still wet hole from earlier when they’d arrived home from work. He’s still full, too; and high pitched cries leave him over and over as Richie slides inside all the way in one thrust, and it’s seconds before Eddie is desperately trying to bounce in his lap, Richie’s hands on his hips helping him move.

Everything always blurs and softens when they’re like this. Eddie doesn’t think about all the scary things, he has no space for that in his mind when Richie’s telling him how beautiful he is and how perfect he feels and _I love you, Eddie._

He gasps, lifting his head from where he’s resting it on Richie’s shoulder to find his face.

“Wh- what did you say?” He keens when Richie drives in particularly hard before rolling his hips up as he holds Eddie’s ass down against himself.

Richie swallows hard, pressing a sloppy kiss to Eddie’s jaw before moving back up to his ear.

“I love you. I love you, Eddie. I fucking love you so much I don’t know what the fuck to do with it all.”

Eddie kisses Richie’s cheek, then his nose and his forehead and down to his chin before their lips meet again, the hot tears threatening to glue their mouths together so they can never part; and he squeezes his eyes tighter to push more out in hopes that it works.

Then Richie’s hand is in Eddie’s hair and pulling him back before he starts thrusting again, so hard and so deep that Eddie sees stars as he clings onto Richie for dear life.

“Richie, _oh, Richie._ ”

“Beautiful, sweet boy. You’re perfect. You’re everything, Eddie. I’m so in love with you.”

Eddie sobs, Richie’s nails reinforcing the marks that he’d left on Eddie’s sides earlier, when Richie had come up behind him in the kitchen and gently bent him over the table; his tongue opening Eddie up for so long that by the time his cock was sliding in, Eddie had already sprayed his mess all over the table once.

“Richie, Richie; I love you too, I love you so much.”

It isn’t long then until they’re both scrambling to find the hold they need on each other’s bodies as they both come, the only sound from their mouths and the only thought in their minds being each other’s names; and Eddie whines when Richie gently asks if he wants to get up, instead curling himself around Richie’s body and holding on tight, and that’s how he falls asleep that night, full and warm and loved.

~

“Please, Richie? Please, _please._ Just this one time, just one more fucking time, Richie!”

Richie throws his jacket across the room, and it barely skirts around the table lamp, which teeters in its spot on the end table before settling back into place. He paces through the room, scarred hand shoved into his pocket while the other tugs on his hair, and Eddie is practically vibrating where he sits on the couch as he stares up at his boyfriend. 

Richie had confessed something to him, and Eddie just can’t let it go.

Because Richie was having memories again, after _months._ And though Eddie had been mostly able to stop talking about it, to stop bringing it up to Richie; he’d never stopped thinking about it. Never stopped sitting on the floor of the shower and touching his scar, wondering if maybe he didn’t cut deep enough last time to unleash whatever is hidden inside.

On his next pass, Eddie catches Richie’s forearm, stopping his frantic pacing and looking up to him with pleading eyes. Richie sighs, falling down onto the couch next to him with his hands rubbing nervously over his jean clad thighs.

He gets up on his knees, scooting closer until they’re pressed into the side of Richie’s thigh. He caresses Richie’s cheek soothingly, his heart soaring when Richie visibly relaxes against the touch. Eddie manages to silence his gasp when Richie’s left hand moves to cup Eddie’s where it’s touching his face, turning to press a kiss into his palm. Then he’s turning to Eddie, and their lips are touching slow and soft.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Richie huffs, rubbing his hands over his pants again. “I didn’t mean to freak out like that. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

And maybe he would be scared, if it had been the first time. Or if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand.

“No, it’s okay, Richie. I know how you-” Richie’s exhausted blue gaze catches Eddie’s dark one, and he bites his lip. “I know it upsets you. But maybe we-”

Richie just shakes his head decidedly, his mouth set in a firm line.

Lately, Eddie’s just been giving up. Just been letting it go, because he truly doesn’t want to anger Richie. But his mind is fucking reeling, and he doesn’t think he can just sidestep it this time.

“Please, just listen to me.” Richie narrows his eyes, but eventually gives a hesitant nod, so Eddie continues. “You- okay. You’re having the memories anyway, right?” Another slow nod. “Okay. Okay, so what’s the harm in trying then? In seeing what happens? You’re having them anyway, Richie; so please? Can we please just try one more time?”

Richie’s long lashes cast shadows over the line of his freckles as he closes his eyes, and Eddie’s teeth sink deep into his lip as he waits for Richie’s response. His heart pounds in his chest as he watches Richie’s brows tilt and lift, and then he’s finally opening his lids again.

“One more time?”

Eddie practically shrieks in shock, because he’s definitely begged more than this before, and they’ve definitely fought harder than this before.

“Yes! Yes, okay.” Eddie gives him a shaky smile, both his hands coming up to cup Richie’s cheeks as he plants a kiss on his lips. Richie lifts Eddie into his lap, his thumbs pressing soothingly into Eddie’s ribs.

“Just once, Eddie.” Richie reminds him as they get settled, with Eddie’s butt on Richie’s thighs and their hands laying between them.

Eddie eagerly nods in agreement, and he moves to place his palm against Richie’s, but Richie is leaning forward and pushing a brutal kiss to his lips, making him yelp into it. His long fingers are wrapped around the back of Eddie’s neck, and with a fire in his eyes that ignites another deep in Eddie’s belly, Richie says, “I love you, Eddie.”

Eddie swallows, watching as Richie sits back against the couch and holds his left hand out to him, waiting.

He drags the tips of his fingers down the length of Richie’s, before sliding their palms together as he replies, “I love you too, Richie.”

He’s sent so quickly into it that his belly lurches, but it’s distant. He barely feels it as his younger self takes over, leading him through the dark, dank house. 

“Richie?” He calls out, searching. Another name falls from his lips, but it’s muffled and he can’t make it out. He thinks it starts with ‘B’.

“Rich…” Eddie whispers, hearing the low growl of that monster, and he turns to run, to find Richie and get the fuck out of this house, but the floor gives underneath him and he’s falling. The loud crack of bone pierces his ears and he groans, eyes prying open to squint through the risen dust as it flies all around him.

He wants to call out again, to call for Richie so that he can save him. But his voice is lost when the creature - _the clown_ \- appears in front of him, slowly lurking it’s way over to Eddie, where he lies on the ground with a broken arm and tears streaming down, and he thinks this is it. This is the end.

“Eds!” 

It’s Richie, and there’s others too. Faces he can’t make out. He can only see the flame of red hair, the stripes of a shirt, the sweat glistening on skin. But the faces and voices are impossible to trace. 

Except Richie’s, who is at his side now, whose hands are on Eddie’s face and keeping his eyes off the monster as it creeps closer and closer until an ear-shattering shriek is heard when something collides with it, and then it’s all fading away again.

He comes back to his trembling self, only to find the most terrified look on Richie’s face that he’s ever had the unfortunate opportunity of seeing. He looks like his younger self now, frightened unlike ever before, but trying his best to suppress it for Eddie. To be strong for Eddie.

“Richie? Richie…” Eddie releases Richie’s hand and presses his palms flat to Richie’s chest where his heart is hammering so hard it has Eddie whimpering in concern, and then his hands drag up to Richie’s neck until they’re cupping his jaw, and Richie’s eyes are a mix of terror and bravery and determination, and that’s when Eddie realizes that he may have returned to himself, but Richie hasn’t yet.

He scoots closer in his lap until their chests are flush, and he pulls his fingers through Richie’s curls as he whispers into his ear. Because he sent Richie into this, and it’s his responsibility to bring him out.

“I’m here, I’m right here, Richie. I’m waiting for you.”

A little whimper crawls out of Richie’s throat, and he starts shaking violently, but his hands come up around Eddie’s sides and clutch on tightly; tight enough to have Eddie wincing but never tight enough to push him away. He searches Richie’s eyes, and he thinks he sees the clouds lifting, can see the realization flood into the blue pools as reality sets back in.

Tears spill behind his lenses, and Eddie feels horrible. Feels so awful that he convinced Richie to do this. Feels even worse that despite his agreement of _one more time,_ he’s already thinking about the next time they’ll inevitably do this.

He kisses Richie, feeling him jump under his touch. When he pulls back, his chest tightens at the way the color still hasn’t fully returned to Richie’s face, the way he’s still shivering, his fingers slowly slipping off of Eddie’s sides.

It seems as if Richie just cannot stop remembering, like he thinks the memories will eventually drive him mad, and now he bites down on his lip and puts his hands together, palm to palm, tight; as if to keep himself from flying apart.

Eddie watches him, and as Richie closes his eyes in what Eddie thinks is an attempt to drive the memories away, he places his small hands on either side of Richie’s where he’s still pressing them together in front of his chest, and he drops a kiss to his fingertips, holding him like that until the shakes eventually stop and Richie’s breathing goes back to normal, and they fall into the cushions and hold each other while they cry; and Eddie can feel the drag of Richie’s scar on his side where his shirt has slipped up. They fall asleep with their mouths touching, and Eddie feels the memories fading into nothing as slumber takes him away.

Since then, Eddie let his desperation subside. Or at least, he learned how to suppress it. 

Things were bad, after that night.

Richie would miss work, would sleep all day. Eddie sometimes came home to find him half asleep on the kitchen floor with an empty bottle of bourbon on the ground next to him. 

“Just tryin’ to stop it,” He’d slurred as Eddie got him up onto wobbly feet and barely managed to drag him into the living room as he practically collapsed under the weight of the taller man. “Can’t stop it, Eds. It won’t stop.”

As soon as Richie’s head was on the soft pillow, he’d fallen asleep, his arm lazily hung over the couch to touch Eddie’s knee where he crouched beside him, smoothing his hair away from his face.

And he knew it was his fault. Because he forced it. He’d put Richie through so much already, and he couldn’t stop the tears as he knelt next to the couch, pressing his face into the cushion to quiet himself as he sobbed. He should just go to their room or take a shower and handle this there, but it wasn’t possible for him to tear himself away. Being away from Richie was painful. Even just for work. He thought that feeling would ebb after being together for a while, but it seemed to only get harder to manage each time one of them walked out the door to go to work.

So he stayed at Richie’s side, the musky scent of alcohol thick in the air between them as Richie sucked in sleepy breaths through his parted lips. And Eddie didn’t sleep that night - nor any night he found Richie like this - and instead chose to caress him and kiss him and tell him _I’m sorry, Richie. It’s all my fault. I love you and I’m so, so sorry_ until the sun was peering over the window pane and Eddie had to talk himself down from his panic as the approaching work day creeped closer.

And every morning after those nights, Richie awoke with a groan, which woke Eddie up from the exhaustion induced nap his body would force him into in the wee hours of the morning. Richie would kiss him and pull him up onto the couch and tell him _it’s okay, baby, it’s not your fault._

But no matter how many times Richie promised him that, he knew it wasn’t true. It _was_ his fault.

So now, as he’s held in Richie’s arms and his tears are drying; he looks up into Richie’s bloodshot eyes, the bags under them dark and the faint scent of alcohol still clinging to his breath, Eddie decides that he needs to stop.

He cuddles in closer, the soothing press of Richie’s hands giving him the courage to clear his throat and take a breath before speaking.

“I’m done, Richie.”

Richie’s fingers gently coax his head back so he can see his face, his brows lifted in confusion.

“I’m not- I won’t do it anymore. I’ll stop, okay?”

Richie seems to let the words sink in, his hand coming up to rub the sleep from his eyes in what Eddie knows is an attempt to gather another moment before responding. 

“Eddie, I know you want to keep trying.”

Eddie frowns, because it’s true. Every day he thinks about the memories they’ve gained and lost over and over again; wonders how many times it’s happened, since he knows they’ve not only forgotten them, they’ve forgotten some of the instances in which it even happened. And Eddie wants to say yes, _yes, I want to keep trying. I know it’s important, I_ know _it is._

But then he feels Richie’s lips brush over his forehead and his body wrapping around his, and he decides that nothing could ever be more important than Richie; than making sure Richie is okay and doesn’t have to go through these nights any longer; than being together with him, and making a life. And he knows he can’t do any of those things if he continues allowing himself to be consumed by this strange thing. So he mentally pries the clutches that part of his brain holds him in off, and cups Richie’s cheek softly.

“I only want to be with you, Richie. I want to stop. I just- will you please call me if this happens again? If you feel it coming on, just please-”

“Yes.” Richie whispers, pressing their foreheads together the way he does when he wants to make sure Eddie is hearing him. “Yes, baby. I promise. If I can- if I feel it, I’ll call you first.”

Eddie nods, kissing Richie before curling himself into the other man. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, baby.”

~

“Oh my god.”

“I hope that’s a ‘yes, oh my god’ not a ‘no, oh my god.’”

Their third year anniversary snuck up on Eddie; he can’t believe it’s been this long since he’s been with Richie. With the love of his life.

They’ve just returned home from their date: a night of food and laughter and walking downtown under the pretty lights hung up all over the shops. It’s late August, but the cool evening breeze had them pressed together all night long. Not that it mattered; the dead of summer wouldn’t pull them away from one another.

Three years of love and happiness and _Richie._ The most wonderful, beautiful, perfect time in Eddie’s life. He can only hope it’s been just as incredible for Richie, and he thinks it may be safe to assume now that he’s on one knee before Eddie on the deck attached to the back of Richie’s house.

Of course, not everything has been easy. Sometimes they’d go months between another spell. Just long enough to forget or to think maybe it was finally over.

But it would come back in full force every time. It was mostly Richie who suffered from the memories. Eddie wonders if it’s because he was always so actively trying to avoid them. Richie’s been able to let Eddie know when he feels it coming, for the most part. Sometimes it’s too quick; too sudden, and Eddie still comes home to find Richie curled up in the corner with his head in his hands, sometimes the liquor reappears and he’ll once again drag Richie to the couch, still apologizing as the other man sleeps. Because he doesn’t think there are enough ways to say he’s sorry for this.

And Richie only continues to reassure him that it’s not his fault. How can it be, he’ll say, it’s always been out of our control. It’s true, Eddie knows this; but that heavy stone of guilt in his belly tells him that maybe if he’d let it go sooner, if he hadn’t coerced Richie into trying it again, then he wouldn’t be dealing with this. 

_As long as I have you, it doesn’t matter, Eddie. I’d go through anything if it meant I could be with you._

So Eddie lets himself believe Richie. Tries to believe that it’s not his fault and that Richie’s right. He wants to believe he deserves Richie; who treats him like a king and lifts him up when he’s down and kisses all his troubles away. Everyday he reminds himself that he deserves Richie, and everyday he reminds himself to stop thinking about what would happen if they tried _one more time._

“Eddie?” Richie chuckles nervously where he’s still knelt down, his button up shirt pulling tight around his waist, his glasses glinting in the soft light hung above them. 

Eddie blinks away his thoughts, his eyes falling from Richie’s handsome face to the tiny box in his big hands; the open box with a silver band nestled inside, and when he looks up at Richie, the tears start rolling down, and he wants him to say it again; to hear those wonderful words fall from Richie’s lips once more. And he doesn’t have to ask, because of course Richie already knows.

“I love you, Eddie. God, I fucking love you so much. Marry me, baby; let me spend the rest of forever showing you how much I love you.”

And then Eddie’s nodding, nodding so quickly the tears are flying off of his cheeks as he giggles through it, and Richie is shooting up off the ground and wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist to lift him and spin him as they laugh together. And this is the best moment of Eddie’s life; he’d give up everything for Richie. _Everything._

~

“Was it everything you wanted?”

Eddie blinks up at Richie, his hair feathered over the soft pillows as they lay together in delicious, post orgasm haze.

_Post wedding, post orgasm haze._

Eddie drags his finger down the center of Richie’s chest, where his shirt is open but still on, as well as his tie. Eddie curls his fingers around it and starts giggling, and then Richie’s rolling on top of him and kissing all over his face.

They’d decided to have a tiny wedding; only inviting Richie’s closest SNL friends, as well as some of Eddie’s friends from his job. There were fewer than twenty guests in total, and yeah, it was everything Eddie had always wanted.

Because all Eddie had ever wanted was this. Being with Richie, anywhere, everywhere, under any circumstance.

He giggles again when Richie’s lips find his neck, his curls tickling under his chin like they always do. Richie’s hands drag up Eddie’s sides, and he feels the cool metal of Richie’s ring against him. 

A thought crosses his mind, but he dashes it away quickly, hoping Richie doesn’t notice the stutter in his laughter or the pause of his fingers pulling through his curls. But of course, he does. He always does.

Then he feels the ring on his forehead as Richie strokes his hair away, and he sighs.

“What is it?”

Eddie shakes his head, because it’s been _so long_ since they’ve had a spell. He can barely recall the last time. And Richie’s been so happy. They’ve both been so fucking happy, and the last thing he wants to do right now is drag them down by bringing it up. He wishes he could just stop wondering; stop constantly trying to understand how and why and when those things would happen to them. He wants to just be content, to let it go.

“You’re thinking about it.”

“No, I-”

“Shh, sweet boy.” Richie kisses him, thumb smoothing over the bridge of Eddie’s nose. “Give me your hand.”

Eddie gasps, thumb playing with his wedding band where he has his hand hidden under the sheets, and he shakes his head once more.

“Eddie.” And Eddie really never is able to say no to Richie, has truly never _wanted_ to say no to Richie, so he slowly lifts his hand, resting it over his head on the pillow. His scar didn’t hurt anymore, and he rarely allowed himself to press against it, to feel that strange pulse underneath. He trembles when Richie’s ring clinks gently against his as he slides their hands together, and Eddie grips tightly onto the front of Richie’s dress shirt as he waits for it. 

It doesn’t come.

Nothing happens, and Eddie opens his eyes to find Richie already looking at him, his cake and champagne scented breath spilling out from between parted lips. He isn’t sure if he feels elated or disturbed by the fact that nothing happens; that this is the first time they’ve tried doing this in years (Eddie even stopped doing it while Richie slept) and they didn’t even get the faintest flash of something.

He chooses elated, though, when he sees the relieved smile on Richie’s lips. 

“You okay?” He breathes, nose brushing against Eddie’s as his thumb drags over Eddie’s scar, shivers zipping up his spine.

“Yes.” Eddie tells him, pressing up for a kiss. “Thank you. I love you, Richie.”

“I love you, Eddie baby.”

Eddie can’t help but giggle again, grabbing Richie’s tie playfully and pulling him down. His laughter continues as Richie drags his long fingers down Eddie’s ribs, and it slowly turns into drawn out, satisfied moans when Richie’s hands latch onto his hips as he presses inside him again.

~

“You know, I’ve really been wanting to try that new Italian place.”

Eddie turns to Richie, who is leaning against the kitchen island, shirtless, with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. Eddie glances back at their empty cupboard with a sigh before shutting it.

“Yeah, me too. But we’re going grocery shopping after.”

Richie chuckles from behind his mug. “Sounds good, baby.”

Eddie smiles through the blush on his cheeks, and he used to wonder if that would ever stop; the way Richie makes him feel so bashful, like every time he calls him baby is the first time. He kind of likes it though, how everything Richie does warms his cheeks and makes his heart pound and his belly dip. 

He turns to the fridge, pulling his magnetic notepad down and grabbing a pen from the cup before yanking the door open to begin making his list. It isn’t until he’s looking through the cupboards again that he’s reminded of Richie’s presence; his hands heated from his now discarded coffee cup slipping up under the hem of his shirt as he comes up behind Eddie, leaning down to press a kiss against the side of his neck.

“You’re cute when you concentrate like that.”

Eddie laughs, leaning back against Richie. “Only then?”

Richie kisses the shell of his ear, and Eddie can’t suppress his shudder. “Always, baby.”

Eddie really doesn’t want to pull away from Richie, especially when his lips find that sensitive spot below his ear, and one of his hands is sliding up over the plane of Eddie’s belly under his shirt while the other skims over the waistband of his jeans; but they have things to do.

Even though they’ve gotten older, they’ve barely slowed down in this department. The simplest brush or squeeze easily sends them back, like it’s their first time, every time. Eddie hopes it’ll always be like this. He lets himself believe it will, because even after all this time, he still finds himself whimpering under Richie’s touch; still receives those throaty sighs and breathy groans from Richie whenever he clenches down around him or drops to his knees in front of him.

He lets it go on just a bit longer, until Richie’s fingers are dipping under his waistband and he’s pressing his chilly wedding band against Eddie’s nipple in the way that has Eddie mewling; completely melting into his touch.

“Upstairs?” Richie purrs, tongue darting out against his skin.

Eddie forces himself out of the steamy haze, spinning around in Richie’s arms. Though that doesn’t really help much, because he can feel Richie’s arousal pressing into his hip.

“ _After_ dinner.” Eddie smiles, pushing up for a kiss before he taps Richie’s chest with a finger, silently telling him to put a shirt on.

Richie groans dramatically, dropping a kiss to Eddie’s forehead before he turns to go to their room.

“You’re going to be embarrassed by how quickly I eat!”

“We have to get groceries, too. So might as well just take your time.”

He distantly hears Richie groan again, followed by, “Oh, I _will_.” The fire in Eddie’s belly sparks up at the implication of Richie’s words, and he smiles to himself as he finishes writing his list.

It’s only a few minutes before Richie returns, just as Eddie’s hanging his notepad back up on the fridge.

“Ready?”

“Ready, Spaghetti.”

Eddie scoffs, his palm itching minutely when the nickname registers in his mind. He’s not really sure why, though it’s not Richie’s most popular nickname for him, he definitely uses it, and he doesn’t think he’s had that reaction before. By now, he’s well practiced in ignoring those little signs, though, so he does just that, smiling up at Richie as they lace their fingers together.

Richie is grabbing his keys off the table when his phone starts ringing where he’s forgotten it on the island. He doesn’t unlace their fingers as he turns back to grab it, so Eddie follows easily along.

“Shit, sorry, Eds. Must be one of the producers.”

Eddie squeezes Richie’s hand as he grabs his phone from the counter, and his heart sinks into the floor when all the color drains from Richie’s face as he looks at the screen.

“What’s wrong?” But before Richie can answer, his phone is clattering against the counter and he’s looking at Eddie with terrified eyes. Fear prickles Eddie’s skin as he carefully picks up the phone to see who it is.

His belly lurches at the number he doesn’t recognize, and he feels Richie squeeze his hand tightly as his thumb swipes across the screen.

“H- hello?” Richie’s arms are moving around Eddie’s shoulders, holding him against his chest in what feels like an attempt to stop them both from shaking out of their skin.

“ _Richie? Richie Tozier?”_

Eddie swallows hard, pressing his face against Richie’s chest to listen to his heartbeat as he feels that horrid, familiar fog settling over his mind.

“No- no this- this is his husband, Eddie.”

 _“Eddie? Oh my god,_ Eddie _?”_

“Who… who is this?” Eddie whispers, tears rolling down his face and soaking into Richie’s shirt, and he feels his hair dampening as Richie tries to silence his own cries against it.

_“This is Mike. Mike Hanlon, from Derry.”_

**Author's Note:**

> blue summer blood, blue summer love  
> blue summer, don't take me  
> blue summer blood, blue summer love  
> blue summer, don't take me
> 
>   
> thank you for reading, pls validate me :') <3
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://blueeyedrichie.tumblr.com/) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/blueeyedrichie)


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